Disorder
by Tsusuko
Summary: Arthur is a cheap romance novelist. The only way his life could change was if he wrote a book worthy of fortune. When Ivan, a deranged lunatic, escapes an asylum and ends up in Arthur's home in the middle of the night, Arthur knows he's found his muse. Will he set Ivan aside when he's reached fame or fall in love with him in the process? Or will Ivan be caught to meet a cruel fate?
1. Chapter 1

**((*Summary: Arthur was an author. He wasn't rich or famous because all he wrote was romance novels. He hated his lifestyle, but the only way his life could change was if he wrote a story worthy enough if becoming famous. When Ivan, a deranged lunatic escapes from a mental institution and travels to England to end up in Arthur's house in the middle of the night, he realizes that he had found his muse. Will he set Ivan to the side as soon as he reaches fame, glory, and fortune or will he fall in love with him in the process? Or will Ivan be captured by the authorities to meet a cruel fate?**

***Hi all! This is the first RusEng fanfic I'll be writing! I'm excited to see how this will turn out. All ideas and future events and scenarios are still considered, so anything is bound to happen! Enjoy (*´∀｀)ノ**

***Warning(s): Mild yaoi, language**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. All credit goes to the original creator, Hidekazu Himaruya))**

The snow crunched under Ivan's feet as the guards chased after him. There were about 15, no, 20 of them. Ivan didn't have time to confirm how many there because he didn't have time to look back. They were already closing in on him, and he quickened through the cold snow, avoiding the fierce dogs they had brought with them that had tried more than once to bite at him. They yelled at Ivan in rapid Russian, spitting and cursing at him. The shouts were no more to him than muffled nonsense. He didn't listen. At this point, he only wanted to leave. Over in the distance, he saw rising smoke making its way through the sky. Perfect! He remembered how close the asylum was to the docks. It may have been too close for comfort, and the risk of death wasn't unlikely, but it was the last thing Ivan feared. Tearing apart his flimsy, torn straitjacket from his body with his arms, he ran as quickly as he could down the snowy slope, almost losing his balance and toppling over. The cold didn't bother him. He was used to it. The only thing he could not go without was his scarf.

Down to the pier he went, rushing to a cargo ship waiting to sail. He spotted a large box with the lid partially opened. He could most likely fit inside if he tried. It was his only escape. He took the chance and moved the lid and slid inside, closing it as soon as he could. All that was in the box was smaller boxes that contained tea bags in them, a similar brand that Ivan knew. Not that he was ever allowed to drink tea anymore. Not in that dreadful place. He felt movement as soon as he stepped inside of the box. The box was being boarded inside of the ship. Whoever was outside dragging the box with an unsuspecting Ivan inside of it groaned, complaining over the sudden weight of the package. Little did he know, a full-grown man was being sent away with the exports. Once the movements slowed to a stop, and everything was quiet, he slid the top off and peeked his head out of it. He was in a half-litted room, surrounded by other boxes of all sizes. He carefully stepped out of the box to inspect his surroundings. The room was void of anyone except for him and the boxes. Alone. He sighed in relief and began to wander. Eventually he found a small porthole along the right side wall of the room. It was hidden behind yet another box. Ivan couldn't open it, but at least it was a clear enough view. The snow outside kept falling. There hadn't been a change in scenery yet, as the boat has shown no signs of departure. Nonetheless, Ivan was still safe.

Years ago, Ivan wouldn't be able to stand the idea of leaving Mother Russia. Now, everything has changed. The bastards who kept him there mistreated him, like he was a monster. If it were up to him, he would have them all killed. He would bathe in their blood and eat their remains. However, it was thoughts like this that got him in there in the first place. Ivan wasn't insane. He was just...angry. Yes. He couldn't help the fact that he would "put people in their place" when he was rubbed the wrong way. It was human instinct, right? It hadn't been the same ever since he was separated from both his sisters. His mother had died long ago, and his father had never been in the picture, so they were all that he had. It was involuntary mental hospitalization. They took him against his will. When they tore him away because of his instability, he vowed to escape. He wasn't certain he would see his sisters anytime soon, but he would do anything in is power to return to them safely one day. One day, when his mind comes to an ease. After all, Ivan knew better. He had to run, he couldn't kill the entire establishment, along with several other lunatics in the process. Not on his own. There weren't any good weapons for him to use and he'd be a fool to try. Even if he wanted to, he would either succeed with many more scars or die trying. It didn't matter to him whether or not he did, though. Ivan just wanted to go somewhere else. He wanted to go to a warm place. A place where he would be surrounded by many of his beloved sunflowers. He didn't need friends. He didn't need company. He would be fine when he gets there. _If_ he gets there.

The ship began to sail to a path unknown and away from the Motherland.

/

"I can't do this."

Arthur set his pen down and disrupted the silence of the quiet summer evening with a familiarly heavy sigh. He read it over, checked his punctuation, fixed grammatical errors, looked over fragments, not that there were many of them, and re-read again. It _just_ wasn't good enough. He just couldn't finish it that way. He found himself with head down on the desk for the hundredth time that night with his draft in hand, overworked and restless. At least, it felt like he's done this that many times. He couldn't look at it anymore. He crumpled the paper angrily and hastily threw the ball behind his shoulder, to land amongst the growing pile of useless alternate endings that he couldn't use, or allow himself to use. As stubborn as it sounded, and he had already used up as many ideas as he could possibly think of while ripping off several ideas (to which he shamefully admits), all of it was just so _cliché_! Arthur wrote romance novels. Make that "cheap" romance novels, at that. All pure melodrama and lust-fueled fan-fiction with an unrealistic setting. They all start the same way, all of the following events are predictable, and furthermore, the way they end is far from a twist or a shock, and they always leave you with its poor taste, unsatisfied. But how did he end up writing it? God, he can't even remember. It wasn't writing as a passion anymore. He was more into science-fiction, detective crime novels, in honor of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the Sherlock Holmes series, mysteries, and hell, he'd write about just about anything that WASN'T, well, _this_.

A sour flavor resided in his mouth as he thought about it with a sneer. The deadline was only 1 day away, and so far, he had written several endings but ultimately had nothing. He'd think finishing a God-awful novel like this would be the simplest thing he'd done, but so far, it was impossible. No one could bring themselves to do this. Cheap or not, he had some dignity. Dignity, however, didn't help pay for rent. Defeated, he took the paper he had recently thrown and straightened it with his hand. This will have to do. It was late. He was tired. No more thought to it anymore. No one was expecting to come up with something good, they were expecting something...he had stayed up too long again. He couldn't pin-point the word. Right. _Sufficient_. All of the strategies he'd been trying over the night must have succeeded in frying his brain, sure, but that word just about sums everything he'd done up to that point. With a small thud, he found the same comfort in the glass that topped his single-pedestal writing desk, as he did on previous nights like this, and quickly fell into slumber. The glass was cold, but Arthur didn't mind Not less than a second later before he fell asleep, there was a loud trill.

Arthur's eyes instantly snapped opened, wide and flooded with anger. The phone. Who the hell could be calling at this hour? Arthur swore he would give whoever was on the other end of the line a piece of his mind. Arthur stormed over to answer his phone, and the person who had called him just happened to be his cheery, little-ass colleague. He cursed under his breath.

"What, Alfred?"

"Dude, d'ya hear!"

Arthur rubbed his temple, took a deep breath in and out, and counted slowly to ten.

"Oh, did I interrupt your beauty sleep again? Sorry!"

"Alfred, I'm going to kill you tomorrow if you don't tell me why you called in the next 5 seconds-"

"Okay, okay! Chill. I was just going to ask if you heard 'bout that escaped lunatic. It was all over the news, man. It seems really serious!"

"Alfred, do you really think I'm in any sort of mood to care about anything you're saying right now?"

"Just turn your TV on already. I know you won't, though, since lack of sleep must've made you grumpy. Like, sheesh, who stuck a rod up your ass-"

"Shut up already. I don't wanna have to stress anymore over you, or anything else for that matter. Especially, not that book..." The Englishman grabbed his remote and turned on the telly. Alfred was right. All that was on the news was information about the man who singlehandedly snuck out of a mental hospital in Russia. The hospital itself wasn't very secure, which didn't make Arthur afraid... until they mentioned the escapee had allegedly boarded a ship that led to none other than England. This is intimidated have him. The man had a large record of running from the authorities and sneaking inside resident houses. Only for the houses to be burned down and any of their residents to be brutally murdered. He was put back in the same place multiple times after he had done that, and many times he ran but was unsuccessful in finally getting away. And now, he did it. Arthur couldn't really think of being killed in his own home. He had something to live for, at least. What that was, well...bottom line was he didn't want to die.

"Yo, Artie, you still there?" He was too caught up to notice Alfred had called him by that nickname he disliked so much.

"Oh. Yes, I am."

"So, did you see?"

"I did. Perhaps you were right, this man does seem rather dangerous."

"I told you! Now, make sure to sleep with your windows closed and your doors locked! He could be oooout theeeere!" Alfred made spooky ghost noises on the other end, making Arthur roll his eyes.

"Whatever, git. I'm not letting anyone get their hands on me. Good night."

He hung up first and put his phone down. Surely, he wouldn't be passing around here. The chances of that were impossible! Arthur would be fine. He turned the telly off and walked inside his bedroom. He took his shoes off, but nothing else. He didn't want to bother with stripping before bed. He was too tired. It was too late. He snuggled under the covers and rested his head over his pillow. Arthur fell asleep shortly after wards. Nothing would happen. Not tonight. At least, he hoped not.

/

Ivan had been running for hours. The ship had already stopped at its destination hours ago. The thing was, though, he couldn't recognize where he was. What made it worse is that it was already night-time. He could barely see as he trudged through this unfamiliar terrain and out of the forests. The more he ran, the more energy he lost. Trees, trees, trees, and even more trees. He was tired, hungry, parched, and dirty. He was covered in the musk of the wilderness and the scent of his own sweat. He didn't smell very pleasant, he knew, but that was hardly the first thing on his mind. He needed shelter. Where was civilization? Surely he couldn't have ended up in land without people already inhabiting it. He would be surprised if he did. After a few more minutes of aimlessly jogging through the woods, Ivan spotted light. The lights made a long, bright path far away from where he stood, like a passage. A glowing road. It was almost pretty. He had no time to bask in the colors. Anyone could be looking for him at any moment. He was never safe. He ran towards the light without more thought.

As soon as he was close enough to visualize clearly, he observed that the lights were actually lanterns, conveniently placed along several stores and buildings in what seemed to be a marketplace. As he ran through the pathway of glow, he saw more buildings. Houses. Some were smaller and quaint, and some were larger as he continued to dash through the streets. Eventually the lights stopped and Ivan was left standing nearby one home. This one stood out to him for some reason. It wasn't anything special. It was the same size of some of the houses he had already passed. It was, he believed, a pale blue and was two stories tall. All the lights inside of the house had been off and whoever lived in there, if indeed someone did, must have been asleep already. What made this house so eye-catching though? He walked inside the lawn, but stopped himself. He looked around in awe. Flowers. There were no sunflowers, but they were very beautiful. Orchids, hydrangea, tulips, red roses, peonies, dahlias. They were an abundance of all shades. He could barely see them in this light, but in the morning, the view must be amazing. Whoever lives here must have a fine taste for flowers. He walked up to the front porch. There were even more flowers in vases put out in the front window. He could tell the person who owned all of these flowers tended to them regularly.

Ivan smiled to himself. He'd like to live here. He placed his hand on the door knob and turned it. Locked. He expected it to be, but there was never any harm to try. Ivan walked around the house for any more entrances. There were even more windows on the side, along with more vases, pots and flora. One of those windows happened to be half-open. Ivan took the window and forced it up so he could fit his body easily. He squeezed his body inside the window and set his feet on the floor without making a sound. He found himself in what seemed like a kitchen. It wasn't very small, fairly regular sized. There were teapots and teacups in the china cabinet. This person must have liked drinking tea, as well. Perhaps a woman? Ivan's never really heard of a flower enthusiast who was male, so it was probably a woman who inhabited this home. He walked out to the living room and looked left and right at the household. There were small trinkets hanged on the walls and around the house. The person had hung paintings on the walls. Abstract, scenic, floral and botanical, architecture and even some astronomy. As well as the paintings, there was a tall bookshelf, with books filled up in every shelf. They must collect many books. There were even more flowers inside of the home as well. There were cala lilies, forsythia blooms, pincushion proteas, red gingers, white tuberos, hot pink peonies, peach stock, orange spray roses,red ranunculus, and that wasn't even the end of it. Oh, and even sunflowers! There were 3 aligned in single vases. He couldn't help but smell them. Walking around and surveying the home some more, he noticed some picture frames. Most featured landscapes and photographs of the outside world and nature, but there were a few different from those. He took one on his hand, careful not to break or damage anything. He lit a lamp that he found nearby and held the picture close to the light for him to see. A man with blond hair and green eyes stood in the middle of the frame. He was turned, with a bothered look on his face, as if the picture was taken without his consent and he didn't want to be photographed.

The man held a sharp glare and a slight pout, and his hair was messy and unkempt. He had unusually large eyebrows. Ivan pondered why they were so thick. He had some hair on his face, and he seemed as if he didn't want to be there. It may have just been the way the photo was taken, but the man was small. Smaller than Ivan, at least. He seemed thin under the over-sized jacket he wore and his legs were skinny like the rest of his body. He could tell, as the man was only wearing a pair of shorts. The man interested Ivan. His eyes and his hair mostly. He may not brush his hair, but his butter-colored hair shined like gold. His eyes. He stared into those emeralds of his. He hardly ever saw anyone with green eyes. They pleased him. But who was this man? The head of the household? A friend of the homeowner's? Whoever he was, Ivan stared at his picture eagerly, wanting to meet him.

Ivan set the frame down as soon as he heard some shifting. It sounded as if it came from another room. He started to panic. Immediately, he hurried behind the sofa and hid. It was the best he could do. Hopefully no one would come behind here. After a moment, he could hear small footsteps coming down stairs and the shuffling of slippers on the hardwood floor. He didn't look to see who are what decided to walk around the home in the middle of the night. They might see him. He remained crouched behind the sofa until a light radiated from the kitchen and coffee began to brew.

"Ugh. I can't sleep. I need to be checked for insomnia..."

Ivan jumped slightly to the voice coming from the kitchen. He curiously crawled over to the kitchen door and held it open so he could stare inside. His violet eyes widened in surprise. It was him! The man in the photo! He must be the owner of the home, then. Ivan grinned like a child and gripped the door with excitement, awaiting the man's next move.

"I don't want to drink coffee, but if it's the last thing that'll keep me awake..." The man rubbed his eyes lazily and mumbled, setting a mug on the kitchen counter. He spoke in foreign tongue that Ivan could hardly understand. He knew that it was in fact English, but Ivan knew little. He could only infer that the man was making coffee, since it's what he smelled, and he was tired. That was about it. He scurried away when the man took his mug and walked toward the door after pouring his coffee. He turned off the kitchen lights and then flipped the switch that powered the lights in the living room. Ivan sniffed the air. The scent of coffee wasn't something uncommon to the Russian, but he hadn't smelled any in years. It was a nice change, to be able to remember these fragrances. The blond-haired man sat on his sofa with his legs crossed. He blew on it to make sure it was safe to drink then took a sip. He smacked his lips and glanced at the blank television screen in front of him with a sigh.

Ivan didn't know what to do. He should leave, but he kept finding himself gazing deep into the other man's emeralds. They were even more bright and alluring up close. A small blush grew on the Russian's round cheeks. This man was fascinating. His creamy skin was exquisite. Maybe even soft, Ivan thought. His features were divine in their own way. He could hug the man as if he were a stuffed animal. He might go as far as to say that the man was-

"Blimey, what's that smell?"

/

Arthur sniffed the air. God, it reeked! He stood up and looked to find the source. It wasn't coming from the kitchen for once, after many failed cooking attempts. He set the mug of coffee on the coffee table and sniffed the air once more, wishing he didn't. He pinched his nose with his fingers.

"Ew...it smells like something died in here." Arthur froze when he heard loud crawling. He yelped and turned to the noise. It seems to be heading near the front door, and Arthur quickly followed behind. He couldn't see anything! His front door opened slowly with a creak, and Arthur ran over to see what it was that was in his home.

"Aha!" He closed he front door and flipped a light switch, illuminating the passage to his doorway. A man sat crouched on his knees, but was as tall as Arthur's waist in that level alone. He had a large nose, silver locks that almost seemed blond in the light, and he wore nothing but a pair of ripped pants and a scarf. He had no shirt. And what surprised Arthur most was how he was covered in dirt. No. What surprised him most was why he was even in his flat! Arthur shrieked and the man looked at him urgently, shaking his head and putting a finger to his lips, signaling for Arthur to be quiet. He wasn't. How could he be?

"W-who are you?! How did you get in here?!"

The man looked back sheepishly at Arthur and waved. "P-Privet..." What language was that? Russian? He was definitely a foreigner, Arthur knew. The man figured Arthur wouldn't understand what he was said, and seemed to calculate his words before finally pointing to himself and speaking slowly. "Ivan. Ivan Braginski."

Arthur raised his eyebrows with as much skepticism as anyone could ever hold on their face. His tension grew into anger and he glared at Ivan with his arms crossed. Since the man probably didn't speak English, he spoke in the same manner to him, sharply and coldly. "What are you doing here, Ivan?"

Ivan stared at the Brit, then at the door, then back to him. He tried sneaking away, but Arthur caught him before he could leave. He closed the door again and stood in front of him, looming over Ivan.

"No, no! You're staying in here!" He pointed to the ground to indicate that Ivan was to remain in that spot. He was growing impatient now, and he crouched to meet Ivan's eyes. The glare intensified.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" The last word was uttered with as much poison to kill a thousand men. Ivan leaned away from Arthur's glare, intimidated and afraid...and perhaps a bit flustered, except Arthur didn't notice. He could tell Ivan continued to struggle with his words. The larger man frowned and muttered silently in his native language.

"Umh...lost."

"Lost? You're...lost?" Part of him almost believed him. Maybe the man really was lost. He _seemed_ like it, but that doesn't explain why he was covered in dirt like this. Ivan nodded.

"Da. Umh, lost. Ivan lost...found your home, da?"

"Uh...okay. Then why are you so..." Arthur searched for more simplistic words that Ivan might recognize. "Dirty?"

Ivan chuckled shyly and scratched his head. "I...tripped? Fell?"

Arthur found it extremely hard to believe this man merely tripped in a pile of dirt. What did he do after wards, roll around in it? Arthur shook his head, still highly questioning of this man. After all, what were his intentions? Did he want to steal from Arthur? Could he be a rapist, looking to take Arthur in the middle of the night when he was vulnerable? Arthur moved away from Ivan and kept a safe distance. The man could easily top him and hold him against his will. He wasn't going to be taken advantage of. Ivan stood up. He was tall! Too tall. He looked to be about 6 feet tall, or possibly a little over that by a few inches. A man of his stature wouldn't even have to try! Arthur held a large hard-cover book in front of his chest protectively, ready to throw it.

"S-So...Ivan, right?"

Ivan nodded again. "Da?"

"Could you please get out of my flat?"

Ivan cocked his head to the side and looked at Arthur with much confusion.

"Um. Leave? Please?"

Ivan's face turned sad. He put his hands together pleadingly and looked at Arthur with innocent, violet puppy eyes. Damn, it was working.

"Oh, lord..." Arthur ran a hand through his face in distress. "No. Ivan, that isn't going to work on me. You can't stay here. Go. Leave. Now. Shoo!" He pushed the larger man to the front door when he refused to move. He pointed to the door and glared at him with a scold. "Leave." Ivan wouldn't budge.

His pleading eyes suddenly narrowed at Arthur. He sighed and turned to the smaller man, looking at nothing out of the corner of his eye, something he did while he thought. He nodded at him. "Name?"

Arthur furrowed his brows. Why does he want to know his name? Is he thick? Dim? He just decided to tell him. "Arthur Kirkland."

"Arthur..." Ivan repeated the name softly as he took Arthur's book from him .

"What are you doing..?"

Ivan held the book over his head and slammed it onto Arthur's head with severe force, knocking him out. Arthur's vision suddenly went blurry and shortly after, everything was dark.

"I am sorry, Arthur."

End of Chapter 1 TBC

**((Author's Note: This was a lot shorter than I intended it to be, but the next chapter will be longer! Also, there's something I'd like clarify. My intentions are not to make Russia/Ivan to look like a bloodthirsty lunatic, sometimes he can be a sweetheart and I want for him to be portrayed that way. He doesn't murder anyone in this fic unless it's because of his mental instability or self-defense, not because he's a crazy person who loves to kill. Thank you~ Also, I hoped you liked the first chapter. More to come soon! ))**


	2. Chapter 2

**((*Warning(s): Mild yaoi/Shounen Ai, suggestive language**

***Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. All credit goes to the original creator, Hidekazu Himaruya))**

* * *

Ivan kept repeating to himself so he'd believe it; he wasn't a bad person.

He didn't mean to do it, but he had to. Ivan couldn't just leave, someone would find him and turn him in. He couldn't go back to the asylum. He couldn't go back to that place. He knew Arthur would be fine. He hit him hard enough to knock him out cold, but he would probably be up in the next 15 minutes. If he had killed him, Ivan would know. He picked Arthur up and carried him to another room. Inside the room were more picture frames, a few paintings than hung on the wall, and of course, a single vase of roses. What Ivan assumed to be Arthur's bed was right there in front of him. He set Arthur down on the bed, causally glancing over to a pillow that caught his attention. It was embroidered. Arthur embroidered? He actually did it very well. He had 2 more pillows that were embroidered, along with some embroidered pillow cases that the man must have made himself. So, Arthur had a garden along with a love for flowers, and he embroidered. He was a little feminine, but Ivan liked that about him, and wondered what else Arthur did. He looked around the room again. He didn't notice anything particularly eye-catching, although Arthur had many balls of paper on his floor and inside of the waste-bin next to his desk. Arthur definitely used up a lot. What could he be doing with this much paper?

He walked over to Arthur's desk and noticed another piece of paper in the center of the desk, yet it wasn't crumpled like the rest behind him. He noticed that it had writing on it, and picked it up. The handwriting was surprisingly neat, and all done with pen. There were no mistakes that he could see, but once he tried reading the writing on the paper, he noticed it was all in English as well. He could hardly understand it.

"He...Что это за слово ...? Ca...caress...ed...her...beau...ti...fol..." Ivan frowned. He wished he had let his sister Katyusha teach him English when she insisted. What a stubborn boy he had been back then. Eventually, he gave up and put the paper down. He could probably practice learning English so he could explain this whole situation to Arthur. Maybe then, he'd be more sympathetic. Or understanding. Maybe they could be friends! Or even, more than friends? Ivan giggled idly, the blush returning to his face. He looked back at Arthur with awe and wonder, walking back to examine his body. Arthur looked so peaceful. Yes, he was unconscious, but serene nonetheless. Did Arthur write too? What kinds of things did he write? Has he written a book? These questions swam through Ivan's mind as he stared attentively at the Brit. Yes. He hoped they would both get along well. He would ask Arthur many questions! They would make the best companions. They could share tea in the afternoon, Ivan could knit him a scarf, and he could convince Arthur to grow more sunflowers! But first, he'd need to learn enough of his language to properly converse. He could always teach Arthur Russian! Although, that would require him having to know enough English to translate. Ivan pouted. Would Arthur want to be his friend after what he did to him? He knew he'd have to explain why he did what he did...but he didn't know how. Arthur would be waking up any moment. He left the room and went downstairs to leave Arthur be. He tried to practice what he could say to him after he wakes, carefully assembling sentences and using the books Arthur kept on his bookshelf for reference. He knew he had one sentence down for sure!

"Please don't hate me, Arthur!"

/

_Arthur had a dream. It was short dream, and it was very similar to the dreams he's had his entire life. His unfulfilled dream of becoming a famous author._

_This time, though, it played out more like a nightmare._

_There he was, in some of the best clothes money could buy, with his signature, custom-made green floral tie he wore that distinguished him from other authors. He could never look tacky in that tie. He looked dashing in that tie, always! He was holding another book signing for his latest book, one called- oh, he couldn't remember! He had written too many masterpieces in his day! Sitting at a table, a crowd of fans gathering around him, he basked in his success, center of attention. He picked up his pen and spun it in his fingers, smiling a radiant smile that could light up a room, which it did. He was charming, loveable, admired, inspiring!_

_"Settle down, everyone! The book signing has begun!" He adjusted his glasses and signed and marked his writing inside the books of his affectionate fans swiftly, occasionally dealing with an overly excited fan, yet coming out unscathed. But the book signing stopped abruptly when a fan picked up their book and walked out with it. To his surprise, everyone else followed, and he set his pen down, springing from his seat._

_"Wait! Where are you lot going!" He kept calling out to his fan when suddenly the room grew dark. He was alone. A single spotlight shined on him, the rest of the room remaining pitch black an obscure._

_Then, the critics came and spoke in the form of bodiless, omnipresent voices coming from the depths of the room._

_"Unbelievably unoriginal. Arthur Kirkland's written one of the most terrible books in the history of literature. I wouldn't even use this book as a door-stop."_

_"Awful. It was dull, stereotyped, and poorly written. It's as if the entire book was written roughly in monotone. I expected much more from him."_

_"Wasn't worth the read. It surprises me how his writing abilities have changed since Arthur's last novel, but after this, I'm not even sure those books were really written by him. He'll be remembered as the worst author in Britain..."_

_"The worst author in Britain..."_

Arthur immediately sat up, frightened and awake. Did his dreams always have to remind him how much of a failure he was? He put his head in his hands. That's all he really was. He was a failure. He _was_ perhaps the worst writer in Britain. In the world! He had no inspiration. No ideas. He knew this, and he was suddenly reminded why his life was in the shitter. Why he was forced to write the romance novels he wrote. He shook his head shamefully. What was he going to do with his life? How could he change it?

...Why did his head hurt so much?

He tilted it to the side, and felt a pain. "Ow! My head..." He rubbed it slightly. Did he hit his head on something earlier? He could hardly remember anything that happened earlier, really. He looked to his clock. 1:27 AM. Had he been sleeping all this time? And when did he get in bed? He swore he was doing something earlier, though...he hadn't been sleeping. He got up from bed and walked out of his room, down the stairs. His mug was still on the coffee table and the coffee in it was no longer warm and steamy, but most likely cold. He couldn't drink it now. He decided to leave it there to figure out what he was doing. Okay. Being the light sleeper that he is, he woke up earlier to make coffee. That explained the coffee mug he left on the table. And then...what? There was a blank in his mind, and he couldn't seem to recall what happened afterward. There was a...smell. Right. And then...then...

Arthur picked up a book that was on the floor and began to place it back in its corresponding spot on the bookshelf before he noticed...what was a book doing on the floor? He examined his bookshelf again, this time a little closer. A few books were missing. Only a few, but he didn't remember taking any out. Wait. His books were out-of-order! He stomped on the ground with his foot and a huff. He'd have to rearrange all of these books to alphabetical order again! And what's more, they were all messy! He didn't do this! Something must have happened. _Someone_ must have taken his books, more like.

He looked around for traces of evidence. If a burglar did come to steal his books, he'd find them and beat some sense into them! He circled the house and scanned it like a hawk. Nothing. After he checked all of the rooms upstairs, including the attic, he noticed small trails of dirt on the floor. Dirt...? He followed the track, leading to him to the outside of his study. The door was closed? He always left his study door open. Skeptically, he turned the knob.

A larger man looked up at Arthur as he spun on the chair with wheels merrily, giggling.

"Arthur! Hello!"

Arthur looked to Ivan in shock. All of the missing thoughts filled in the gap in his mind. A man came in the middle of the night, covered in dirt, sweat and even some blood. He had hit Arthur over the head with a book, knocking him out cold. Arthur's fists clenched and he ran up to Ivan, stopping the spinning chair and pinching those stupid chubby cheeks of his. He growled at Ivan while pulling them.

"You sick, twisted son of a bitch! You come into my home, you knock me out, and you come into my...are those my books? _And_ you took my books out of my bookshelf! Why, I ought to-"

"Arthur! Arthur, please- ouch! Y-You are...hurting me!" Ivan whimpered at the man, flailing his arms and speaking with a whining voice that sounded awfully weird with his cheeks pulled. He begged for Arthur to stop. He didn't.

"Damn right, I'm hurting you! I'm glad I am! Just who do you think you are, huh?! Bloody fucking bastard!"

"Let me explain!" Ivan said most surely. It was a line he practiced repeatedly in his private study time, just for Arthur. Arthur slowly pulled away from him, and let go of his cheeks. Keeping a close eye on him, he glared into Ivan's innocent amethyst eyes with his own piercing emeralds. So far, Arthur was definitely winning the stare-off.

"You see..." Ivan rubbed his cheeks and cleared his throat. "I am sorry. I did not mean to hit you. If I did not, I feared you would not have let me stay. Please, do not hate me, Arthur." Ivan recited that last line proudly and held out his hand for Arthur to shake. "Take my apology, da?"

After a quick mental deliberation, Arthur brushed Ivan's hand away, unimpressed. "I _accept_ your little apology...but I am not touching you."

Ivan pouted at Arthur again, taking back his hand. "Okay..."

It was somewhat admirable that Ivan took the initiative to practice his English and how he was able to come up with that small apologetic speech. Sure, it may have not been the best apology, as the last line sounded more like a friendly command than a question, but truthfully he was actually impressed with Ivan. Slightly impressed. It wasn't half-bad, compared to how little he spoke when he had met him. The man certainly learned quick. Arthur gave Ivan a small but reassuring smile, holding out his hand again. It was only a small reward, but he knew Ivan had tried his hardest. "Alright. I'll shake your hand-" Ivan grinned and shook Arthur's hand eagerly, moving Arthur's entire arm up and down.

"O-Ow! Sheesh!" Arthur yanked his hand away and let it hang in the air. Ivan's grip! It was deadly! He looked to Ivan's hands. They were rough and calloused by years of age and perhaps hidden secrets about Ivan that Arthur didn't know about. They seemed fit for heavy labor. They had some scars on them and Arthur knew, since he had just witnessed his strength, that Ivan could most likely snap his appendages off of his body if he wanted to. He backed away with some reluctance. Ivan looked at Arthur with concern.

"Oh...forgive me. Did I hurt you?"

"It's fine. Just, d-don't let it happen again." This man...just who was Ivan? What was his history? Arthur knew he was fit. After all, his body surely proved it. He had muscle, he was tall, he was well-built. He hated to admit it, but he was handsome. Not that he liked him. The man also held more than a few scars. They weren't as visible on his hands, but there were some on his arms and mostly his chest. This man was a puzzle. Would it even be easy to look into his mind? Arthur thought not. Ivan smiled brightly at Arthur, hands on his lap and legs crossed on the chair. And another thing...this man seemed unusually happy and friendly all the time. It reminded him of Alfred, yet he was far less annoying than Alfred. Arthur would seem like a fool to let a complete stranger into his house. And maybe he was, for he knew nothing about Ivan. He knew he was in his home and that Ivan was "lost." Arthur narrowed his eyes and looked Ivan in the eyes, leaning in so close that their noses almost touched.

"Um...Arthur? You are very close..." He could tell he was making the man uncomfortable.

"I just want to ask you a few questions, Ivan. To find out who you are."

"I am Ivan Braginski..."

"Yes, yes, I know that. I mean other things about you."

"Other things...?" Ivan looked at Arthur with the same bewilderment he's had the whole tine he's been here. Arthur figured he would have to repeat himself more than once for Ivan to understand.

"Yes. Other things. About you."

Ivan nodded slowly, trying to understand.

"Where are you from, Ivan?

"Ah. Russia."

He had said "Russia" with such a thick accent in his voice that England could hardly recognize what he was saying at first. That's mostly what it was like when Ivan first spoke at all, actually. "Russia? You're Russian, then?"

He nodded. "Da. Can you not tell?" He looked to Arthur with an expression that showed it was clearly obvious. It almost was, and Arthur didn't know why he didn't notice it sooner.

"Uh, yes. I can tell. So...how did you get lost?"

The question made Ivan fidget. He looked around the room nervously, as if for an answer, and scratched his neck while avoiding eye-contact. "Uhm...I..." He thought for a long time before he finally said something, and Arthur didn't know if it was the trouble he had finding the correct sentences or because he was afraid...afraid to tell him the truth.

"Trip! I took a trip, in the woods! Um...but...I walked too far away! Couldn't find my way back, no! Нет! Eh...after many, many hours, I saw light. I followed it. Light led me to a town with houses. I found your house and I...I..." By now the man was telling him a little more than he needed to know, but he allowed him to speak, if it would ease his mind.

"You snuck in?"

"Da! Snuck in. Needed shelter. I snuck in and looked. This house is very...very nice, da?"

"Uh, I suppose so, yes. Thank you."

"You are welcome. I looked...around. I looked around and I saw your things. They were also nice. Then, I found something. A picture of you. You are...how do you say..."

"I'm what?"

Ivan blushed a little and looked down at the floor bashfully, then up at Arthur with his head titled down. "You are...beautiful?"

Arthur's face grew hot, and his eyes grew for a split second as he leaned away from Ivan. Did...did this man just call him beautiful? What an irrelevant thing to say! That was just uncomfortable. Has this man never been around people? It's like he hasn't been part of civilization for a long time. Arthur thought maybe Ivan was secretly some sort of hermit or homeless person who wandered in the woods and broke into people's homes. Plus, although Arthur was gay, he had no intentions of committing to a romantic relationship! Not in his lifetime, and certainly not with this man! He was good-looking, but his work was far too important to him, even if he didn't progress much in his profession. He had hopes though, and being with Ivan would be far too distracting. It would ruin his chances!

"O-Oh...did I say something bad?" Ivan scratched his cheek shyly.

"N-No! No, it's just...you caught me off guard, is all."

Ivan cocked his head again, possibly because he didn't know the phrase. "Hmm?"

"You...surprised me. How's that?"

Ivan quickly nodded. "Oh! Yes. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to."

"It's quite all right, but...Ivan, men are not _beautiful_. Men are considered handsome. Women are beautiful."

"Men are not beautiful?" Ivan frowned, looking to Arthur with stubborn violet eyes. He didn't like that response? "No. Men can be beautiful. You are beautiful."

He said it again! By God, Arthur's face was a blushing mess. He didn't even know why. It was probably just warm in the house. Right. Ivan was abnormal. Yes, that was the word. _Abnormal_. Odd. Weird. Ivan was all of these things and more. What kind of man calls another man beautiful? Could Ivan really have a crush on him? Preposterous. He shouldn't even be thinking of this any further.

"I think that you are beautiful. Really beautiful. Your...hair. Very pretty." Ivan reached out and ran his hand through Arthur's hair gently. He wiggled his fingers in between the strands and smiled with what Arthur thought seemed like confirmation.

"Yes. Soft...like my scarf, da?"

"S-Soft? I...guess?"

Ivan chuckled. "Da. Your hair is soft. Do you know what else is beautiful?"

"N-No...what?"

Ivan hopped off the chair and stood in front of the Englishman "Your eyes."

He leaned down a little to meet his height and inspected Arthur's eyes with his own soft and mellow pupils. His tame purples bore deep into Arthur, and the Brit was lost in the gentle hues, like waves flowing endlessly inside of the man's form of view. They were arguably very nice to look at. With Ivan's eyes locked onto Arthur's, Arthur could feel himself melting into them and the way they looked at him. They were such a rich color. Ivan was...oh no. Arthur was thinking the way he did when he wrote his novels. He pushed Ivan away and titled his own head off to the side, no longer looking at Ivan with loving concentration, but flustered agitation.

"Ivan, don't get so close!"

"Why not?"

"It makes me feel...bad! D-Don't do that!"

Ivan nodded sadly. "Oh."

Arthur put his hand on Ivan's shoulder, consoling him. "Don't feel bad, chap...I just didn't want you that close to me, you know. It made me nervous! Like you were going to..." Arthur laughed uneasily at Ivan's insecurity, trying to assure him that nothing was wrong. "Well, uh, never mind that! Thanks for the, well, compliments...and...stuff."

Ivan looked down at Arthur again. It was different this time, though. The amethysts made him freeze in place, keeping Arthur in their grasp as Ivan stared at Arthur not gently, but with sharp fixation. It was scary, the way he looked. His eyes were sad. No. They were dark, liked they changed with his mood. The atmosphere was uncomfortable, hard to read. Arthur couldn't move from his place.

"Arthur?"

"Oh, um...yes?"

"Are we...friends?"

Arthur studied the man carefully. Friends? Hardly. He was more of an acquaintance. They seemed liked two different people. He didn't dislike Ivan, and he wasn't sure if Ivan disliked him, either, but they just weren't..._friends_. He had just met the guy. Not only that, but since he also hit Arthur, though Arthur sees it more of a failed try to kill him, he was right to be the skeptic. Ivan wasn't fully untrustworthy, nor was he fully trustworthy. He only seemed loyal, but he could turn on Arthur at any minute. Arthur had no way of knowing. He would just have to find out more about the man. Test his loyalty. Gain _his_ trust. He wanted to accommodate Ivan, and although they weren't exactly friends, they just got off to a bad start. Arthur finally nodded, hoping he didn't look too hesitant. "Yes, Ivan. We are friends..."

Ivan didn't seem convinced. He looked to the ground, then Arthur's eyes. This time, he was convinced they were filled with gloom, and Arthur suddenly felt regret and guilt, along with a bit of pity. He did lie, but he was at least half of the truth.

"Then...you are my friend...even though I did things that were wrong?"

Arthur's brows lowered, and he looked at Ivan with caring eyes. He spoke to the man with a soothing tone, as weird as it felt to do it.

"Yes. Friends overlook...friend forgive friends. They forget their mistakes. They're accepting to- I mean kind to each other. That's what friends are for...right?"

Suddenly, Ivan smiled and gave Arthur a hug, and Arthur was caught off guard. He squeezed Arthur tight, holding his entire body close to his chest in a warm embrace. Ivan rested his chin on Arthur's head.

"Thank you, Arthur...my friend."

Ivan smelled clean...he must have showered. That's enough of his bodily fragrance, though. Ivan was warm when he hugged Arthur. He could feel the strong muscle on his arms when his arms tightened around Arthur's shoulders. He tried to be as gentle as possible with Arthur, and he was doing a good job of doing so. Ivan's chest popped out flatly with the Brit's head rested on top of it. He must really appreciate Arthur's friendship. He said nothing about the hug. He just stayed in the man's arms without complaints. He didn't really mind, after all. The Russian man kept him in his arms for longer than he had anticipated, and so then he had to poke Ivan's stomach to get his attention.

"Uh...Ivan...Ivan?"

"Huh? Oh." Ivan let Arthur go instantly. "Sorr-"

"Don't. I liked your hug."

Ivan chuckled mildly and began twiddle his thumbs. "Ah! Good."

Arthur smiled. Genuinely. He didn't know why, but Ivan just made him feel...ugh, he didn't want to think right now. Good. That's the word he'll use, for now. Ivan made Arthur feel good. Like he was a better person. Maybe he didn't really mind Ivan being around. Maybe he liked having him around. And perhaps, though he was still on the fence over this, he and Ivan really were friends. Or they could be. He didn't know.

"Well...thank you for allowing me to ask you questions."

"You are welcome, Arthur. Mmm..." He shifted awkwardly as he stood, wanting to say something.

"Yes? You look like you have something to say."

"Uhm...yes. May I...ask you things, too?"

Arthur nodded and sat on the floor, beckoning Ivan to join him on the floor, to which Ivan quickly obliged. He sat across from Arthur with legs crossed. Ivan swayed back and forth, like a cheerful child, and smiled to Arthur, having many questions to ask him.

"You like flowers, da?"

"I do."

"You have some. I have seen them. They are very pretty. Very healthy."

"Thank you, Ivan."

"I like Подсолнухи. Uh...sunflowers. I know how to say that in English. It was one of the first words I learn. Ah, no. I love sunflowers. I have seen that you have some, too. You should...have more sunflowers in your...garden."

"You like sunflowers? Yes, they are nice. I could try to grow some for you, if you'd like. It's just, they don't grow very well in this weather."

Ivan nodded mindlessly, not understanding.

"Heh...I mean, it's hard to make sunflowers here."

"Oh...oh. I see."

"I'll see what I can do about them."

"Okay. You like tea, do you not?"

"Yes. I love tea."

"Like I love sunflowers?"

Arthur chuckled. "Something like that."

"We should drink some together sometime, da?"

"Yes...yes, I would like that."

Ivan continued to ask Arthur many questions about what he did in his spare time, mentioning the things that he had noticed placed throughout Arthur's home. He asked Arthur if he liked to embroider, but he couldn't say the word in English. He tried saying it in Russian, and Arthur still couldn't understand, since he obviously didn't know Russian. After struggling through a brief game of charades with the man, Ivan brought a pillow from Arthur's room and pointed to the design. Arthur finally understood what he meant. He found out Ivan actually knew how to knit, which he thought to be rather nifty. He didn't know a man like Ivan knew how to knit.

Ivan asked him if he liked to read. Arthur went on to have a lengthy conversation with Ivan, although Arthur was the only one talking, about how much he liked books, how many books he read, which books were his favorite, (Ivan's interpretation of that was basically all of the books on his bookshelf) his favorite authors, and just books, books, books! Arthur knew had spoken a lot, and when he stopped using simple words, he knew he had lost Ivan.

The curious Russian man asked Arthur an abundance of questions, and Arthur wasn't bothered to answer all of them. Some were easier to ask than others, but he tried to help Ivan as best he could until Arthur could successfully answer them, which was also difficult to do with certain topics. He asked Arthur what his favorite color was, if he had other friends, like Alfred, who he admitted to be more of a pest than a friend, when he was born, what his favorite food was, if he was in a relationship and what his sexual orientation was, which were questions that Arthur found to be little personal, but answered anyway. He even poked his eyebrows and asked why they were so bushy, and Ivan knew not to mention their size in front of Arthur anymore soon after the Englishman kicked him. They were questions of a delightfully trivial sort. Arthur enjoyed his talk with Ivan. The conversations they had may have not been long, intelligent, or filled with any complexity, but they were fun, and it didn't matter to Arthur if they weren't. He asked him the same types of questions that Ivan asked him. He asked when he was born and if he had siblings. He said he had two sisters, Natalia, his younger sister, and Katyusha, the elder sister. He asked if he had a mother and a father. Ivan didn't seem like he wanted to answer, so Arthur had changed the subject. He asked Ivan if he drank at all. Ivan said he really liked vodka, which he emphasized greatly. He was sad to hear Arthur didn't have any, but happy when he said he would go out and buy some. Ivan's English was improving the more they spoke, and he even started mimicking and tackling some of the more complicated phrases and the abbreviations Arthur used. He hadn't perfected them, but he was getting the hang of it. Arthur was pleased with Ivan's progress. Before the two knew it, they had killed 2 more hours, unaware of the time. Finally, Ivan decided to ask one last thing.

"Arthur, you write, da? Do you write books?"

Arthur's mood suddenly dropped. His mind began to stir and he looked straight at Ivan with a scowl. It wasn't at all directed to him, but he hated to talk about what he did for a living. _Hated_ it. Ivan didn't know that, though.

"Is something wrong? Was it what I said...?"

"Oh. No, no, Ivan. It's okay, it's just...I don't like to talk about my job."

"Ah, it is stressful?" It was a word that Ivan actually managed to perfect. He's said it repeatedly in conversation now.

"More than stressful..."

"Do you not like your job? I thought you liked to write. You really love books so why do you not like to write?"

Arthur frowned at Ivan, making a disgusted noise, as if just swallowed something foul. He was ashamed to admit to Ivan that he wrote trashy romance novels instead of _real _literature. Arthur didn't want to. Even so, he knew he would have to eventually. Ivan was persistent. Very persistent. As Arthur sat in silence, Ivan would look at him with those pleading eyes that _always_ seemed to work on him, damn it. Arthur sighed.

"Well, Ivan...have you ever heard of...um...'The Notebook'?"

"No."

"Oh. Um...'Fifty Shades of Grey'?"

Ivan shook his head.

"...'Twilight'?"

"I have not."

Part of Arthur was surprised Ivan didn't know what any of those books were, though he didn't exactly expect a man like him to read those types of novels.

"Well, to put it this way...those books are romance books. Do you know about those?"

"Oh. Yes, I understand. Romance. Like two people in love, da?"

"Right, right...well, I...write...books like that. Except they're worse. Waaaay worse..." Arthur didn't meet Ivan's eyes after he told him.

"Worse? How?"

"Well, they're really bad. I'm not proud..."

Ivan eyed Arthur closely. A smirk grew on the man's lips, and Arthur raised his eyebrows at him.

"Oh? You're a...hmm, what is the word...a naughty man, aren't you, Arthur?"

"What? Oh, no! No way! I don't write those books because I like it! There certainly aren't any sexual relations in them! T-That isn't even what I meant!" He had been lying of course, when he said there wasn't anything suggestive written in his books. Some of the novels he wrote tended to be more...erotic than others. That wasn't something he would admit to, though. Not to Ivan.

"So, those books do not have anything dirty written in- oof!" Arthur threw his embroidered pillow at Ivan's face before he could finish his sentence.

"Bloody pervert.."

Ivan stuck his tongue out childishly. "Whatever. If they are so bad, why do you write them?"

Arthur thought about this. He knew he had to, otherwise not only would there be no way to pay bills and taxes, but he'd have no job. He hated it, but he couldn't do anything else about it.

"I have to...I can't write."

"Yes, you can. You have hands and fingers."

"Not like that, Ivan. I mean, I can't write well. All I can write is romance because the rest of my writing is just...bad. My writing sucks. I could never amount to anything higher, better than what I can write now. I can't put a creative idea into words, and I wouldn't be able to publish an entire story into a whole book...not that I have any ideas."

Ivan frowned. "Those words are negative. They aren't good. Stop." Negative. Another word he liked to use.

"I'm sorry, Ivan, but it's true. I just can't."

Ivan moved closer to Arthur and sat next to him, leaning and putting his head on the Brit's comfortingly. "I do not think that is true...you are a good writer."

"You don't know that."

"I do." Ivan pointed to Arthur's forehead. "What you have in here are the words.. You are an intelligent person. You know many of them. You may have all of them. The words just have not connected with what you feel here." He moved his finger to touch the area where Arthur's heart would be.

"You're telling me I need to convey, or show emotion in my writing for it to be good...?"

"Convey emotion. Yes." Ivan nodded and repeated the word "emotion" and "convey." Arthur looked at him, rolled his eyes and scoffed. Emotion. What was he, a poet? A philosopher? Arthur doesn't need that. Ivan was right, Arthur was intelligent, and his pure intelligence is the only thing he's going to need to write a decent book! And when he does, it'll make millions! He just needed some motivation.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't? I think I do know. You're a...stubborn man, Arthur Kirkland. You don't listen."

Arthur smacked Ivan with the pillow again. "Oh, shut up."

"No, thank you, Артур~"

Arthur stood up and walked back to his bedroom with Ivan closely following behind him. Arthur pushed Ivan playfully and Ivan shoved him back a bit farther than he expect to go. Arthur laughed at Ivan as they continued to rough-house on their way to the room.

"Quit following me, git."

"I will follow if I want to." Ivan scrunched his face up to make himself look like the grumpy Englishman while he imitated his British accent, which turned out to sound really thick and quirky with Ivan's Russian accent mixed into it.

"Bloody git."

Arthur burst into laughter, holding onto his stomach and flopping on his back, right on his bed. Ivan lied next to him in bed and laughed along with him, joining the Englishman in a comical fit of laughter that they both shared for a while. Arthur tried to breath in and out for air, but ended up laughing even harder onto Ivan's chest.

"Oh, God...wow...I can't even breathe! What a laugh!"

"Did it sound like you?" Ivan kept laughing and patted Arthur's back in a joking manner, letting him laugh as much as he pleased as if he didn't really mind.

"Definitely." Arthur chuckled one last time before he sighing deeply and turning his head to look up at Ivan. His timid, pessimistic emeralds now shone with glee and an exotic, bizarre contentment that had been unknown to Arthur until now. He could feel it. He knew Ivan could see it as well. Ivan smiled and Arthur grinned right back at him.

"You are happy. Very happy."

"Yes. I am."

"It is different, seeing you like this. I like seeing you happy, Arthur. You should be this way all of the time."

Arthur shook his head, about to say something that bordered on the usual cynicism that he would usually show, but he caught himself. He just kept smiling at Ivan, to give him hope, then nodded.

"I'll try, Ivan."

Arthur yawned. He grew tired again. He didn't even know what time it was anymore. Frankly, he didn't care. He looked to Ivan with tired eyes, yawned, and sighed again.

"Good night...Ivan."

Arthur fell asleep right there, on Ivan's chest, snuggled up close to the warmth of his body.

"Спокойной ночи, Артур..."

/

Ivan held Arthur close as he slept, and he looked to Arthur as he unconsciously clung to him in his sleep. He looked adorable. Like a sunflower. His hair was like the petals. He stroked Arthur's "petals" with his hands and giggled softly at how soft they were. He couldn't stop touching them. "A little Подсолнечник..." Ivan sang a Russian lullaby that his oldest sister sang to him when he was a child as he remained asleep. He was glad. He and Arthur were now closer than they were before, when he first got here. He didn't see Ivan as a freak or a monster. He may have pinched his cheeks hard earlier, but he got over it pretty easily. He knew he would. Arthur was forgiving. Not to mention, he was a good teacher. Ivan was learning to become fluent in a new language. It would take some time, but he knows he's progressing! Life was good for Ivan. He liked it. He knew he'd like leaving Mother Russia, the asylum, and that things would work out wherever he went. He looked at Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. His friend. He liked the sound of that. It took some coaxing (and Ivan having to hit Arthur on the head with a book) but he made a friend and he's even willingly inviting him to stay in his home. He was a bit of a grumpy puss sometimes, but he thought it was cute. He's happy he met Arthur. He didn't care that men weren't called beautiful. Arthur was a beautiful creature with amazing, wondrous eyes. He wondered if his opinion of Ivan would change if he told him the truth...Ivan frowned. No. He wouldn't. That could jeopardize his situation. Arthur would either praise him for his honesty and let him stay or turn him in without time to spare. The latter seemed more realistic to him, as sweet as the former sounded. He couldn't allow that. He had to do everything in his power to make Arthur /want/ Ivan to stay. To never want him to go away. He could manage. And he didn't mind that. Arthur was a man, but that didn't matter. He showed inner beauty. Ivan wanted him. Maybe as even more than a friend. As a lover. It would be easy. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it and he could have Arthur wrapped around his finger by the end of the week. Ah! There goes his mind, acting up again! He couldn't do that. Ivan was Arthur's friend, and he liked it that way.

At least, for now.

Arthur snored softly, and Ivan, too, grew tired lying there with Arthur's sleeping body pressed against his. Ivan pulled a blanket over them and exchanged body warmth with the British man, wrapping his strong arms around his waist, but carefully as though not to wake him. He whispered "good night" into Arthur's ear, half-hoping Arthur would hear. Arthur was warm and cuddly. He knew he was going to like staying here. Shortly afterward, Ivan falls into slumber with Arthur still in his tender grip. Although neither of them knew it, they both dreamt of each other until the sun rose.

End of Chapter 2 TBC.

* * *

**((Author's Note: FLUFF. FLUFF EVERYWHERE. I had no idea this was going to turn out as a fluff chapter, but I'm glad it did. This is making me go dokis agh (/ω/). Anyway, here are some translations to the some of the words and phrases Ivan said, if you need them. It might make more sense if you read these, unless you figure out the context. (I'm not exactly fluent in Russian, so sorry if there happen to be any mistakes.)**

***Что это за слово? - What is this word?**

***Нет - No.**

***Артур - Arthur**

***Спокойной ночи - Good night.**

***Подсолнухи - Sunflowers (That one kinda translates itself in the passage)**

***Подсолнечник - Sunflower**

**Some more announcements! There might be smut in the next chapter, but I can't guarantee any of it unless I'm sure. It may be a bit early for it, which is why I'll consider it before writing any. Also, I would like to add that the references to those books I made were not meant to be taken offensively in any way. I was not trying to bash romance novels, such as Twilight, I just set them there as examples to romance novels in general. Arthur only meant the ones he wrote were bad and of cheap-quality that hardly anyone reads. Just wanted to clarify sotwilightfansdonthavemeforever. Stay tuned for more! ~Tsusuko))**


	3. Chapter 3

**((*Warning(s): Some mild yaoi/shounen ai, some suggestive language.**

***Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. All credit goes to the original creator, Hidekazu Himaruya.**

***Note: The asterisks (*) are a transitional symbol.))**

* * *

The following morning, Arthur awoke to the sound of birds chirping and the morning sun illuminating the inside of his bedroom. He yawned and looked to Ivan, who slept peacefully with his arms still wrapped around Arthur's waist. Arthur rolled easily out of his arms, which happened to be easier to do than he expected, and got off of his bed. It was still a little early before he had to go to work, but he decided to take a quick shower and get ready anyway. Shortly after dressing himself, he glanced over at Ivan's sleeping body and shook him gently.

"Ivan...Ivan, wake up."

Ivan furrowed his brows and frowned with closed eyes, draping the covers over his eyes. Arthur chuckled a little and pulled the covers down a little, Ivan's sleepy half-lidded eyes staring back at him with a slight irritation. He grunted wearily and rubbed lazy amethysts.

"Что это такое? Я хочу спать..."

"Uh...huh?" Arthur scratched his head. Ivan must have forgotten that Arthur didn't know Russian. Well, he was half-asleep.

"Oh...Arthur...uhm...what?" He yawned and stretched his arms, then started pulling the covers off of himself.

"I'm going to work soon...you're going to have to remain here until I return. Unless you'd like to leave the house."

Ivan took a second to process Arthur's words, and see if he could try to understand them as best he could. The man was also tired, and could also use more sleep, so he could tell it only made it more difficult for him to apprehend his words. Ivan shook his head hastily to the last sentence and waved his arms from side to side, almost in the form of an x.

"Нет. No. I...I will stay here."

Arthur shrugged almost questioningly at Ivan and his sudden urgency, but figured he wouldn't stress it. He smiled a little and threw his coat over his shoulder, grabbing his bag and finished draft off of the table. Arthur stepped out of the room and started to walk down the stairs with the larger man following him and clinging onto him sleepily. He nuzzled Arthur's cheek and Arthur tried to push the sleepy Russian away from his face.

"I-Ivan..."

"Mmm..." He groaned and kept his arms around Arthur like he did when they slept, yawning into Arthur's neck. Arthur didn't know whether or not he enjoyed Ivan being on top of him like this. Though, why was he even debating it? He didn't! Ivan looked again, straight into Arthur's eyes, and blinked a couple of times. He rubbed his stomach as it began to growl loudly.

"Hungry."

Arthur sighed. "Okay...I'll make you something- or, um, rather find something for you to eat before I go." Arthur walked to the kitchen and rummaged through his fridge. He realized he hadn't bought any food in a while. He hardly had anything for Ivan to eat, and he certainly couldn't let him eat anything raw and in-edible. That would mean he would have to _cook_. If there was something Arthur couldn't do besides write, it was cook. He couldn't cook anything at all. He could just as easily blow up the stove trying to fry a single egg and set the whole flat ablaze. He shook his head and closed the refrigerator door. He opened up the pantry, grabbed a large bowl, and poured some cereal, as well as getting a scone for himself. Ivan stood beside him, holding his hands out for the bowl, and Arthur handed it to him.

"That should be enough for you, right? If it's too much, I can take some out for you."

Ivan stared down at the bowl with a rather confused expression. He couldn't tell if he didn't like the quantity he had given him, or if Ivan didn't like the brand. He picked up a small cereal flake with his large fingers, cracking it as soon as they were trapped between the tips. He looked to the crumbs with awe.

"Arthur, what is this?"

Now it was Arthur's turn to be surprised. Cereal? How could Ivan not know what cereal was? Everyone knew what cereal was. Well, mostly everyone. Surely they had cereal in Russia. Though, he didn't want to sound like he was some idiot who didn't know about other cultures.

"Uh...cereal. They're just regular corn flakes, though."

"Cereal...seems...familiar. Cereal." Again, Ivan echoed the word a few more times to himself, and to Arthur's curiosity, began eating it with his hands savagely.

"Ivan...would you like a-" By the time he could finish his sentence, Ivan had already eaten the entire bowl of cereal Arthur had given him in three seconds flat. Or maybe even less than that. Arthur looked at Ivan's big cheeks and the crumbs that surrounded the corners of his mouth. He ate even faster than Alfred did when it was Hamburger Day at the workplace! As Ivan looked up to Arthur with innocent, oblivious, and large eyes, Arthur eyed him almost anxiously, and chuckled uneasily, beginning to make some tea. He took a bite of his own scone.

"Wow..h-hungry, aren't you?"

Ivan swallowed, the food swimming down his throat with a loud gulp. He nodded. "Da."

"Well, I assume you haven't eaten since you've arrived, right, Ivan?"

Ivan nodded again, rubbing his stomach and looking up at Arthur. His lips curled into a small pout and his eyes somehow deepened to make them seem even larger. It was astounding how well he could plead with his face. He pointed to his mouth, no longer in a pout but open, signaling for food. Arthur shook his head.

"You'll have to find some more yourself. I need to go..."

Ivan frowned, again with a pout. When Arthur began to head toward the front door, Ivan stepped hastily in pursuit of him, clinging once again to Arthur's waist and whining at the man, begging for him to stay. Arthur couldn't even tell if Ivan was serious, but all he knew was his face was getting warmer, and he didn't want to spread whatever cold or sickness he had onto Ivan.

"I-Ivan, let me go. I need to work."

"Please don't go, Arthur. I will be alone..."

"Sorry Ivan, but-"

"Arthuuuuuuur..." Ivan whined more and sniffled upon Arthur's ear, tearing up and tightening his already tight grip of Arthur's waist. Arthur actually almost regretted leaving the poor man alone, but only for a second. As soon as he got back to his senses, and as soon as Ivan let him go, he opened the door and stepped right through, not even giving Ivan a last glance as he left. He didn't know why, and it may have been mean, but he had no choice. He was going to be late. Arthur hated being late. With long strides, and a bit of a heavy heart, he paced through the streets, mentally scolding himself for not even bidding Ivan a small goodbye.

He might make it up to him later by getting him a sunflower.

(***)

Shortly upon arriving, Arthur clocked in, and was greeted by a tall, tan younger man with blue eyes and a cheery demeanor. Of course, he meant Alfred. Arthur quickly looked to the ground with a sigh as Alfred threw his arm around his smaller shoulders.

"Yo, Artie! How's it goin'?"

"Fine." Arthur shook his arm off of his shoulder and sat at his desk, spinning his pen in his hand. Arthur was an author, yes, but he knew that alone wouldn't cut it. Anything and everything would help pay the bills. He was also a journalist, but not as passionate for journalism as he was with his writing. He certainly wasn't as passionate as Alfred was. He was an intern, and he'd gotten to know the young man through the job. They hadn't become extremely close, but he could call Alfred a friend. He wasn't a bad person, but that happy-go-lucky attitude made him want to take his pen and jab it into-

"Arthuuuuur! Earth to Kirkland! You listenin'?"

Ivan? No. On the contrary, it was just Alfred. Arthur shook his head, snapping himself out of his daze, and looked up at Alfred, who was leaning down with his arms crossed on Arthur's desk, probably on rambling about things he thinks are "awesome" or how living in London is "cool." Or some other American rubbish. He never really knew.

"Honestly, no."

"Rude! I was just asking if you saw anything suspicious last night."

"What are you talking about?"

Alfred rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet, his palms face-down on the desk. "Well, I heard that guy, the crazy guy on the news, was around here. They said they may have seen him near Central London, but the detectives can't be sure, y'know?"

Arthur chewed on the inside of his lip, tapping his fingers on the desk. There was a hint of fear in his voice, but only a little. It wasn't noticeable, but he looked to Alfred with growing attentiveness. "Really...?"

"Yeah. Dude, I heard this guy, like, used to come into people's houses and chop their heads off! Then, he takes the severed heads and takes the brains out like he's carving a jack-o-lantern! And then, he eats 'em! Ha, isn't that sick?"

By that time, Arthur wasn't really listening anymore. In fact, he _really_ didn't want to. At all. His face turned a small shade of green and he suddenly felt even more ill than earlier, when he was with Ivan. This time he actually felt like throwing up the little he actually had for breakfast. He didn't leave from his spot, though, as he was still filled with a slight interest. He let Alfred talk and talk as much as he wanted, hearing a variety of different things.

"He dismembers the bodies and stuffs the parts under the floorboards!"

"He splatters all of the blood over the walls and floors, then burns the house down!"

"He uses, get this, his _bare_ hands to snap someone's neck! Can you believe that! It's like something out of some sort of killer action movie! Ha, get it? Killer."

Yet, Arthur still didn't say anything. He continued to sit there, nodding and paying full attention to him, until Alfred finally decided to change the subject. He tuned out as soon as Alfred started going on about his past Halloween celebrations.

"Speaking of scary stuff, back in New York, I always used to be Superman for Halloween! 'Cuz he's, like, one of the greatest heroes! But there's Batman, too. And Captain America-"

Arthur kept thinking to himself about what it would be like if anyone like that even entered his home. He sounded brutal! Ruthless! Arthur had to take some precaution, or else he'd be dead by the time he returns! He still had a few hours left. He wasn't going to stay for very long today. He knew what he was going to do. He'd barricade the doors and windows with wooden planks. No. Replace the windows with bullet-proof glass. Do they make bullet-proof doors? Probably not, but he knew the doors would need a lot more weight than the windows. Something that someone couldn't easily pass or break through. Perhaps he should put his bookshelf on the front door or something. Except he didn't have that much body strength to move a huge bookshelf like that. Maybe Ivan could, though. He was strong. Well, he seems like he's strong.

Ivan Braginski. The man was still a complete mystery to Arthur.

There were many traits Ivan had that Arthur liked about him. He was, for one, a great listener. He could talk for hours, and Ivan would just sit there and heed his every word. Granted, he might not know what Arthur's talking about half of the time, but he actually listened, unlike how he was with Alfred at this very moment. He was smarter than Arthur really imagined him to be. He couldn't articulate words in the way he would like to, he thought, but if Ivan practiced his English at this pace, he'd be speaking English so well, he'd be the envy of foreigners everywhere. He was intelligent. He wondered if Ivan knew that. He was one hell of a looker. He was, what Arthur would call, a fit bloke. Arthur couldn't exaggerate this, he did find the man was handsome. Dashing, even. His nose was a little big, but he actually found it to be kind of cute. He was tall, and his pale skin is something Arthur found to be rather appealing. He had an interesting hair color, but needless to say it shined gorgeously in the light. A blond silvery kind. A mixture. He liked it. His body was like a temple. It was heavenly and well-built. Ivan was godlike. He had a great complexion. He was practically perfect, as if made piece by piece by God himself, or what have you. He was probably popular amongst the women where he was from. And finally, the eyes. Those eyes. Arthur loved Ivan's eyes. They were like...Arthur couldn't even describe them at this point. He couldn't think up of any words or phrases good enough to captivate the beauty or express the magnificence of those dark pupils into a mere formation of letters spoken by none other than a person like himself. They were too grand for that. Yes, it was dramatic, but the point was he couldn't do it. Besides, he was too occupied with imagining what they looked like. Astonishing. He was easily swayed by those tempting violets. Arthur quickly found himself in a girlish daze, with the palms of his hands holding the sides of his chin, and with a dreamy sigh, a pink fell upon his face.

"Ha, bro...are you blushing?"

Blushing? Arthur's eyes suddenly widened when he looked Alfred. Alfred gave a toothy, and goofy grin. He poked Arthur's cheek and laughed. "You are! Are you thinking about someone? Oh, are you crushin' on somebody? Who is it? Huh, huh?" He cupped Arthur's cheeks and shook him with boundless interest. "C'mon, I promise I won't tell!"

"N-Nobody! Let me go!"

"You're lying! Your face is totally red! Arthur's gotta cru-ush!~"

Alfred was right, which happened to be a first. Not about the crush, though! His frontal features had been draped with a bright scarlet color, and he was slightly jittery now. No. No, no, no. He didn't like Ivan. He couldn't!

"G-Go away, Alfred-"

"Is it Francis?"

"I would never!-"

"How 'bout Kiku?"

"No, not-"

"Ludwig?"

"No!"

"Me?"

"Hell no!"

Alfred laughed and wiggled his eyebrows, pushing his glasses up back onto his face so they wouldn't fall. "Alright, alright...I still say that's a load of bull, but whatever. Must be another guy I dunno about. I'll figure out who it is, though!"

"Arse..." Alfred walked away laughing with the usual paperwork in his hands, singing about Arthur's imaginary boyfriend loudly, leaving a blushing Arthur in his seat. Him. Liking Ivan. Not a chance. He may have mentioned that Ivan was handsome, but it's only normal! Arthur was gay. He found him attractive. Right. Perfectly ordinary. Ivan was nothing more than a friend. A good-looking friend. That's it. He insisted that was it. Although, there was something that remained in his mind. No, it wasn't being involved with any sort of romantic relationship with Ivan. What complicated Arthur was who he was. After all, he may have seemed innocent, but Arthur should know, looks could be deceiving. He knew he shouldn't have any reason to suspect him, but he can't help but feel as if there was something off about the way he arrived. Was he trustworthy? Arthur couldn't tell for sure. As soon as Arthur quit thinking of Ivan, he noticed people hurrying over to the television they kept in the room for any new alerts and entertainment, a crowd suddenly emerging and growing with each minute. The workers talked and murmured about whatever it was that was on the telly and, likewise, Arthur quickly began to grow curious. He got up from his seat and walked over to gather with the others. There was a wall of people preventing him from getting any closer to the television screen, and he could hardly hear the reporter speak. He gently pushed the people out-of-the-way to gain closer access, but as soon as he could hear the faint talking coming from the speakers, and as soon as green eyes met with the purple eyes on that of a familiar face on the screen, he was left speechless.

"Ivan Braginski, age unknown, was last spotted near the streets of Oxford, London, at approximately 1:12 AM in the morning. Investigators suspect he may have been headed to invade the rural homes near Laurington Road, or perhaps to seek a "hiding spot" away from the authorities. The police are currently on the lookout for the man and are beginning their search at the homes and flats the suspect was presumed to be occupying. Homeowners are highly encouraged to lock their doors and remain inside during the night in case of any late break-ins. The suspect may be extremely lethal and hostile. It seems we have managed to find a picture of the suspect that shows his full body. He stands 182 centimeters tall, with silver-like blond hair, and purple eyes. He is of Russian origin, and can be easily spotted. As previously mentioned, he is an escapee of a mental institution in a smaller town in Moscow, and has several other charges of breaking and entering, arson, and large acts of homicide."

And as if Arthur had not been overrun with the countless emotions he had been feeling already, the last two lines that came out of the reporter's mouth just so happened to send a wide chill right down his spine, make his breathing erratic, and his entire body to tremble. He let out a small cry. A cry of absolute mortal _terror_.

"Anyone caught harboring or aiding this criminal will face similar consequences. This could mean a potential, but likely death sentence."

_Death sentence._

Arthur turned, in tears, and ran through the large crowd, straight on to a path where no one would care to look for him.

But it wasn't home.

(***)

"B...bastard...fuck!" Arthur screamed, throwing his arms up in distress as he paced back and forth, his entire body shaking so violently that he feared he might have a stroke. He couldn't remain standing for longer than a minute. He sunk to his knees, head in his hands, yet he did not sob. Arthur was an emotional wreck, and this hectic rollercoaster he found himself riding didn't seem to end. He was choked up, all of his words choked and lumped into the center or his throat. He couldn't even call out insults anymore. He sat with his back against the wall, arms hooked around his knees and close to his chest. He squeezed them tightly as he sat in the dark, empty alleyway, croaking with distress. There were too many feelings conjoined into this whole situation that he didn't even know where to begin processing all of this.

Arthur was still very right to suspect Ivan.

How could he have been such a fool?! Clearly, when you hear the report of a lunatic on the news, and a man just _happens_ to show up late at night in your home, the man _is_ the lunatic! Maybe he was just in a state of denial. He didn't want to believe it at first. Or perhaps, he couldn't think clearly that late at night. He had been working for too long to be concerned over something like that. He still blamed himself. And now, Ivan was just sitting around in his home. _His_ home. He didn't know what to think of the man anymore. He could easily kill him if he said something wrong. Even by accident. He felt fear. For his life, mainly. All of those things that Alfred said. They were all about Ivan. Ivan could do all of those things. But his anger was even stronger than his fear. Anger was definitely alive in him. As afraid as he was of Ivan, he just felt like eliminating him. He could be a threat. Or maybe he _was_ a threat. To his mind! He didn't care how quickly it was to judge his character. Not at this point. Ivan was crazy, mentally unstable, and if Arthur kept him around, it was his life and those around him that were on the line. Not to mention the fact Ivan had been lying to Arthur this entire time. But he had to consider what it would have been like if Ivan hadn't lied. Arthur would have just turned him in right then. That would have been the best thing to do! Except...now that he's gotten to know him, he feels some obligation to keep him around and help him. He...didn't want Ivan to go. It could possibly be kindness of some sort. No. But _why?!_ Had Arthur gone mad? He wants to keep a loony around. He _wants_ to keep a killer in his house! Why did he want Ivan around? He didn't understand! What was happening? Arthur shrieked and removed the grip he had around his legs and moved them to be wrapped around his head. Insanity isn't contagious, but he sure as hell thought it must have been right now. These two sides kept battling in his mind, both entirely opposite and contradictory to one another. It messed up Arthur's judgment, leaving him utterly indecisive. He didn't know. He didn't know anything. He just felt like lying there and dying.

He had to turn him in. He _had_ to!

But he couldn't!

But he must!

"I've had _enough_!" Arthur finally stood, removing his hands from his head.

This time, he ran to the source.

(***)

Arthur threw his hand on the doorknob, and turned it so hard, he would've almost broken it. The door flew open, letting in the cool breeze, with Arthur standing there with a pacing heart, about to burst in a chaotic explosion of overwhelming emotion, and wide, murderous eyes that stabbed into his surroundings. All was on his mind. None was on his mind. Arthur put one foot inside of his home, and slammed the door behind him. _Hard_. He walked to the sitting room, and he was there, two needles in his hands as yarn met to make a scarf.

"Arthur. You have returned. Look!" He held his half-finished creation up for Arthur to see. "I am making this for you."

Arthur slowly eyed the scarf, wanting to take it and rip it to shreds. Instead, Arthur counted to ten and had a seat on his recliner, across from Ivan.

Ivan sensed the tension in the atmosphere, and straightened himself in his seat on the sofa to look at Arthur. "Is there something wrong, Arthur...?"

Arthur glared daggers into the Russian man, but then quickly refrained. With a long inhale, and a sharp exhale, he put his hand up to signal he had nothing troubling him. It was a total lie. Like Ivan. Perhaps everything else he told Arthur was lie, too. But that wasn't what he wanted to discuss with him. Not _yet_.

"No, Ivan...but...I'd like to have a little _chat_ with you." Spitting out the word "chat", Arthur leaned forward in his seat with nails dug inside of the fabric on the armrests, as if he were about to fiercely tackle the larger man.

"Da...?" Ivan sat up straight in his seat, with arms folded, raising his eyebrows with curiosity. Arthur smiled wickedly at Ivan, then grabbed his remote. He waved it in the air for Ivan to see, Ivan looking at him with some fright, and pressed a button, powering on the television. The news channel had already been on. Arthur sat back, with fingers intertwined, and the lopsided smile growing on his face. His lip twitched with rage, his hands were pressed together, and his teeth were grinding inside of his mouth to prevent himself from moving.

Arthur didn't make a sound as Ivan stared back at the photo of himself.

"The search for Ivan Braginski in England is still in place. Remember, the suspect is dangerous and mental. Citizens are advised to remain at home from this point on until we have successfully found the suspect. Later at 4, we'll be reporting live from an announcement currently being made in London, telling of more information on the escapee-" Arthur had turned the television of when Ivan dropped his needles and scarf to the ground, his mouth was wide, as well as his fearful amethyst eyes, staring at the dark screen with disbelief. He stuttered, then quickly snapped his head in Arthur's direction.

"A-Arthur, it is not-"

"Isn't _what_?" Arthur got up from his seat, and walked in front of Ivan, grinning maliciously at the man, scratching the palms of his hand with clenched fists. "Isn't true that you're actually the escapee, and that you broke into my home after leaving Russia, hoping to trick me into letting you stay here until the press noise dies down and they stop looking for you? Oh, no! It couldn't have been you, Ivan! You look nothing like the man on the telly that EVERYONE FUCKING IS LOOKING FOR!" Losing himself in the seething anger, Arthur gripped Ivan's collar and leaned in closely next to his ear, hissing venomous words to himself in an attempt to soothe his poor, incensed soul.

"Listen, here, Braginski...I've got just the right mind, with every ounce of my remaining _sanity_, to turn you over to the authorities. Give me one good _reason_ why I shouldn't do that."

Ivan stuttered even more heavily, growing tears beginning to fall from the corners of his eyes. With a breath, and a hiccup, he didn't move, in fear of Arthur hurting him, and he also didn't say anything.

"Answer me. Now!"

At first, Ivan looked down sadly, tears rolling down his cheeks. Then, he brought up his hands and set them on his lap. He looked up at Arthur, every inch of the man trembling. Arthur felt differently to seeing Ivan this way, vulnerable and sad. Half was regret, half was joy. Ivan again put his hands in a form of prayer, and spoke shakily.

"P-Please...do not...I cannot...I can't go back. I can't go back there."

Arthur looked at Ivan's expression. His life was in his hands. It was slightly delightful. Amusing, really. Arthur began to chuckle. Then laugh. Then he started to cackle hysterically, throwing his head in the air and loosening his grip on Ivan's collar, only to make it even tighter and stop his laughing abruptly a second later, after giggling a few more times.

"Can't go back? Ivan, Ivan...I'm afraid that reason is-"

"Arthur, I beg of you! I...I will do anything!" Ivan said urgently. Arthur considered this for a moment. What exactly was Ivan willing to do? It was tempting, but what could Ivan possibly have to offer Arthur.

"Anything?"

Ivan nodded, and gave Arthur a smile. Arthur suddenly didn't feel so angry. "Da. Anything you want."

What _did_ Arthur want? Arthur looked down to think. Ivan didn't have money. He knew that. He would take all of his money if Ivan had some, but he unfortunately did not. It wasn't for a greedy purpose. More like a tax purpose. He was _not_ going to make Ivan his slave of any kind. Especially not to make Ivan do lewd things like in his eros. Arthur, and it may have been shameful, but he was a man, liked them. He just couldn't imagine himself dominating Ivan in that way. He didn't know whether or not he would enjoy it, either. That's entirely out of the question. Arthur had his integrity, if even a little. Although he was furious with the man a second ago, he knew Ivan wouldn't enjoy that at all. It wasn't a win for either of the two men. He had to think of something else, but Ivan hardly had anything to offer him. He could make Ivan a servant. This could mean hard labor that Arthur was too occupied to do. He would have to be careful with such an idea, though, because this could require Ivan leaving the home on more that one occasion. It would defeat the purpose of getting a servant if the servant couldn't go anywhere without being caught. Arthur frowned as he thought. What did he want more than anything else?

"Do you want help...with your writing?" Ivan suddenly asked.

"No, I-" Arthur's eyes suddenly looked back at the Russian, the comment catching him by surprise. "What did you say?"

"Help...with your writing?" Ivan looked at Arthur with hope that his suggestion would catch interest, which it did.

Ivan seemed to be onto something. Arthur needed as much help as he could get. If only he had the right things to write a book, he'd be famous in no time. This needed further elaboration. Arthur raised one eyebrow at Ivan, and crossed his arms as he pretended to look with only little interest, when in fact, Arthur listened with more enthusiasm than ever. "Go on..."

"Well...I could help you write a book? I can try my best to guide you...we can figure something out, da?"

Arthur nodded, engrossed in Ivan's words. He figured he could make something out of this. Something good. Ivan...perhaps, Ivan could be his fuel? A sudden realization hits the Englishman like a ton of bricks, making Arthur fling himself onto Ivan and placing both hands on his cheeks and squeezing then ecstatically. "That's it!"

"What is it..?"

"You!"

"Me?"

"Yes, you! You, you, you!" Arthur grinned, this time gaily. That was it! Ivan would _be_ the inspiration! "It'll be perfect!"

Ivan didn't understand at all. He looked at the happy Brit with the attentive turmoil of a small child. It was so simple! Ivan would be the star of the book! Except, not him. It would be a character Arthur would create with similar traits, but the same back story. He thought of this idea all of his captivation. He had it all planned out! The book shall be about the life of a man. A man who lived in an asylum, then escaped. He would have to work on his name, of course. This book will explain the man's tales and experiences, and even his struggles in the asylum, and his life upon escaping. Yes! It'll be touching, suspenseful, it'll leave readers begging for more! Perhaps he'll make it a tragedy at the end...so many options! He'll be rich in no time! But he couldn't explain his true intentions to Ivan...he might want a cut of the profit. Or maybe even oppose to have a book written about him. Actually, a book written based _on_ him, rather. And then, he'd refuse to tell Arthur anything. He couldn't let that happen. Ivan had to stay. Arthur tried to hide his obvious excitement by yawning and looking at Ivan, unimpressed. "Very well...I'll let you stay."

Ivan shrugged to himself at the odd mood-swings, but smiled at Arthur widely. "Thank you, Arthur-"

"But! I have to place some...ground rules." He had to set some boundaries, or else Ivan would get too comfortable and take advantage of Arthur.

"Rules...? Why?" Ivan asked and stared at Arthur a bit sadly, curiously cocking his head to the side.

"Because...it's going to take a while for me to trust you again, Ivan. After what you did, I feel some restrictions are in order...you want my trust, right?"

Ivan nodded again, looking at Arthur pitifully, as if he did something wrong once again. "Da...I'm sorry, Arthur. I will...obey your rules."

Arthur stroked Ivan's head softly, putting on a semi-fake, caring smile. "Good boy. Now, here are the rules and regulations." Arthur walked over to his coffee table and took his pen in his hand. He grabbed a book as a hard surface, and set the piece of paper on top of the cover. He handed Ivan the pen. "Take notes."

Ivan nodded curiously, but set the tip of the pen on the paper as soon as Arthur began to speak.

"You will be allowed to roam, or walk around freely throughout the house when I am here and even if I am not, but you are not allowed to leave the home under _any_ circumstances. Understood?"

Ivan hadn't written anything, and he looked with arched brows at Arthur, shaking his head.

"Do not get out of the house." Arthur simplified.

"Oh! Da. Understood." Ivan stuck this tongue out to the side as he scribbled characters on the piece of paper.

"Next...you are required to feed yourself and make your own meals."

Ivan raised his hand and jumped slightly in his seat childishly, making the sofa groan under the weight. He looked like a schoolboy. "Oh! Ooh! Question."

"Yes, Ivan?"

"Why can you not make the food?"

Arthur blushed a little and looked bashfully to the ground. "I, um...can't cook."

"Does that mean you cannot cook food or are bad at it?" He added with his hand still raised

"M-Moving on!" Arthur urged and motioned for Ivan to set his hand down. Ivan did, nodding and writing. Arthur proceeded, and explained to Ivan what he could and could not do. Rule by rule, Ivan had already filled up the front side of his paper, as well as the back.

"No late-night shenanigans, no waking me during my rest, no drinking of my tea, and most importantly-" Ivan once again raised his hand, weary from writing.

"Arthur...are you done?"

Arthur frowned at Ivan, but flicked his own wrist to signal that Ivan could stop writing. "Well, yes. Also, do not interrupt me when I speak."

"You said that you were done..."

"I am! Actually...one last thing."

"Arthuuur-" Ivan began to whine until Arthur placed his hand over Ivan's mouth. As soon as Ivan stopped making noise, he moved his hand. "Don't complain. That was one of the rules. I just wanted to say...starting tomorrow, we'll be meeting up for some...sessions, if you will. I'll be asking you questions and such, so be prepared to answer any and hopefully of them. Do you understand?"

"You mean...like the doctor who gave me medicine? The one who asked me questions in a room? He asked a lot of questions...and made me sit in a chair. He said that I was crazy...and then, I was put in that hospital because of him...is that what you mean?" Ivan looked at Arthur menacingly, dark aura clouding the room with Ivan's stare. Arthur laughed nervously and smiled reassuringly, slapping a hand on Ivan's shoulder.

"No, no! Ah, it's like...I-I just want to be better friends with you!"

Ivan beamed and smiled a rounded, cute smile at Arthur when he mentioned being his friend. "Oh! Da! Friends~"

Arthur cleared his throat and walked to the stairs. "G-Good! Let me show you to your room."

Ivan sat up with the paper and pen in his hand. He didn't want to forget the scarf, so he collected his needles and yarn with the other hand, and trudged after Arthur lazily, not wanting to move, to his new bedroom. Arthur led Ivan to an extra bedroom right next to his own, and grabbed Ivan by the hand to lead him inside. The room wasn't anything special, Arthur thought. The walls were a light purple, and there was a single bed, closet, dresser and a tall mirror. No windows, though. He had it there in case a guest came by for a visit or something. He didn't find much use for it, though, since hardly anyone ever came to stay.

"This is your room, Ivan. You'll be staying here for...well, however long this may last. Do whatever you must in here, I suppose." Arthur turned around to leave, until Ivan pulled Arthur into an affectionate, tight hug. Arthur squeaked, surprised and with lack of breath, and struggled in instinct at first. Then, he stopped struggling and accepted the hug, leaning his head on Ivan's shoulder blades. He blushed.

"Thank you again, Arthur."

"Y-You don't have to thank me for everything...you silly oaf." Ivan smiled and let Arthur go, settling himself on his new bed. Arthur closed the door and let Ivan be, returning to his own room. As soon as Arthur closed the door of his room, he snickered mischievously. Everything would work out according to plan! He'd play Ivan into being his brain material and write the book of the century! It was a petty scheme, and it wasn't that cruel, but Arthur didn't exactly care. He would get money, fame, and everything he's always wanted. Soon, everyone would know the name Arthur Kirkland, and it'll be recognized by people everywhere! Especially the media. Arthur lied down and pulled the covers over himself, looking to take a quick nap. He smiled at the impending fortune. It wouldn't take long. He even knew what he would name the book. He'd call it "The Memoirs Of A Mad Man"!

Well, he would work on it.

/

Ivan giggled with glee, and hugged a pillow. Arthur was really going to let him stay! He didn't even have to hurt him to convince him this time. Not that he wanted to...Ivan didn't want a repeat of last time. All he had to do was talk with Arthur and help him with his book. Ivan didn't mind that. He looked around his quaint, little room and noticed a small notebook placed on top of the dresser. He rolled out of bed and went over to see it. The notebook was actually more of what Ivan could call a diary. More specifically, a diary that could belong to a child. A little girl. Ivan remembered how he used to have a diary as a little boy, but his older sister always told him that having a diary didn't matter, no matter the gender. Ivan always liked his older sister. The diary was white, and had little polka-dots that were light blue, or maybe a periwinkle. It had a small, golden latch with a keyhole in the middle, unlike the diary he had as a kid. Ivan could easily break the latch to open the diary, but then the diary wouldn't lock anymore. It was doubtful that Arthur would find it and read it, but it couldn't hurt to be cautious. He didn't want to break it. He looked on top of the dresser for the key, but it wasn't there. He checked the cabinets, but they were all empty and void of any keys. Ivan was about to stop looking until he noticed a glimmer come from under the dresser. He leaned down and got down to his knees to reach under the dresser. It was the key! The key was also small and gold, and had a heart design. It was a cute thing, and Ivan took it in his hand. He inserted the key inside of the hole, and turned it. It made a nice clicking noise once the key was turned, and Ivan opened the little diary as soon as it was unlocked. Ivan licked his thumb and flipped through all of the pages, finding them all to be blank.

Ivan knew what he would do! This could be his own personal diary. Like when he was young. He could write all of his thoughts inside of it. He couldn't let the diary go to waste. Ivan picked up Arthur's pen, flopped onto the bed on his stomach, and began to write his first diary entry, thinking of doing it in Russian at first. But no! He thought maybe he could do it in English to practice for Arthur instead! He found himself scratching a lot of things out with the pen because writing in English was difficult, drawing mindless doodles of himself and Arthur, and making many mistakes in his writing, but he tried and tried. After a while, he got the hang of it and continued to write freely, smiling.

_Dear diary,_

_Today was a good day! I did not do much after Arthur left but when he came back he seemed very mad. The people on the television must know I am here. Arthur knows too. He found out. I thought Arthur was going to make me leave! I was scared! I did not want to hurt Arthur again. But he let me stay. I am thankful. Arthur is a good friend! I hope he trusts me. Arthur is scary when he is angry. I do not want him to be angry with me like that. I will be honest. I will make Arthur trust me. I hope we can be better friends in the future. I like it here in England. I like Arthur. He was different today. Like a new person. He talked a lot. He acted very weird today. I cant explain it. He was mad one second and then happy the next. He made many rules but I will listen to him. I dont want to go back. I want to live here for as long as I can with Arthur. I hope Arthur feels the same. _

_P.S. - I also learned Arthur is bad at cooking!_

_-Ivan._

The rest of the page became filled with Ivan writing Arthur's name in different ways repeatedly, as well as his own. He even drew a sunflower in the corner. Eventually, Ivan closed the diary and locked it with the key. He hid the diary under his pillow, and rested his head on top of it with a sigh. With his head on the comfort of a pillow, he pulled his scarf over his nose and wrapped a blanket around his entire body. He fell asleep in his new make-shift cocoon, awaiting a new day. A new day to spend with Arthur.

End of Chapter 3 TBC

* * *

**((*Что это такое? Я хочу спать - What is it? I want to sleep**

***Author's Note: Yo! Yes, the chapter was mostly Arthur's point of view, so the next might be mainly Ivan's. Also, let me point out that when I was writing the diary entry, the mistakes were intentional. Ivan's still only learning how to write, read and speak English. Let me start off by saying thanks for the reviews, guys! I appreciate them. Now, after reading the reviews, it has come to my attention that, yes, the setting is rather unrealistic. I wrote the second chapter carelessly, and noticed that it was unlikely for something like that to really happen. My only explanation for that would be that at first, Arthur DID get upset with Ivan and was just about ready, and I put this term as lightly as possible, to beat Ivan up. I suppose Ivan didn't exactly look like he meant harm and Arthur wanted to let him explain himself before doing anything frank, and he didn't think Ivan was at all the lunatic. Although Ivan matched the description, Arthur was distracted and Ivan seemed even more vulnerable than he was, at first. Had Ivan not explained himself or had a proper explanation, Arthur would have simply turned him over right then. THAT would have seemed more realistic, yes? But if that were to happen, then there wouldn't be much more to work with in this fanfic. Another reason could be Arthur's longing for a friend/lover? Arthur is a lonely man. He has Alfred, and he has other potential friends, but he's never had anyone in his life that brought any excitement to him. Ivan just happened to be there, and the scenario was just out of the ordinary, I guess? Yeah, a bit of a poor excuse, but Arthur's wanting was blinding him from seeing the truth at first, and, may I add, he IS an author. Authors are pretty weird, in some cases. At least, Arthur is, and he likes to feed off of weird or non-ordinary events, and it's shown a lot in this chapter. In short, I guess Arthur really believed Ivan was harmless and he felt he wouldn't have hit Arthur unless he had a reason, and such and such. And, let's not forget there is the growing "love" for Ivan that Arthur is obtaining. He's somewhat unaware of, or rather, very stubborn about it but it adds to why Arthur wants to keep Ivan in his house, instead of screaming hysterically and throwing things at him or something. Hopefully, that made any sense(?) but I will agree and admit, it was unrealistic. I should think the scenario through I bit more thoroughly next time. I apologize, but I'm a sucker for a fluff scene. Oh, yeah, no smut yet, by the way. It's a little early. I can't be sure exactly when it'll come, but it will. Other than that, if you'd like to keep reading, chapter 4 should be out soon. Sorry for the delay with this chapter! Schoolwork keeps me busy sometimes. ~Tsusuko))**


	4. Chapter 4

**((*Warning(s): angst, yaoi, suggestive scenes, mature/sexual references, strong language**

***Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. All credit goes to the original creator, Hidekazu Himaruya.))**

* * *

Arthur put his thumb to the bottom of the pen and pushed down, bringing the tip up with a click. "Alright. Let's begin."

His session with Ivan began. He didn't have any work today, so he waited for the Russian to wake up and settle before bringing him over to his study. He had already set up a lounge chair in the room for Ivan to sit on, and he did, gobbling down a piece of toast happily. He didn't recognize the toast, either, but he seemed to like it a lot. This was his eighth piece now. Bless Arthur's poor toaster. That was beside the point, though. Arthur took the piece of paper he had and straightened it, waiting for Ivan to finish his food before he could truly begin.

Ivan stuck the remaining toast into his mouth, and waved to Arthur with a full mouth. The crumbs spewed out of his mouth as he spoke with a muffled tone, no doubt from all of that bread. "Arthur, can I-"

"No, Ivan, you cannot have more. We need to start now, okay?"

Ivan slouched in his chair, frowning defiantly at Arthur. He wiped the crumbs away from his face and crossed his arms. "No fair."

"Don't be a child Ivan. Now, then. Can we start?" Arthur asked sarcastically as Ivan stuck his tongue out at him. Ivan nodded. "Good. Let's start with something simple, yeah?" Arthur thought of a potential topic that could be relevant to the story. Every detail counts, be thought. Then he figured it out. "Ah. Tell me about your childhood."

Ivan furrowed his brows at that. He thought with crossed arms, not looking at Arthur but at the ceiling. Arthur thought it was a more personal subject, and Ivan didn't want to share. In that case, he'd have to choose a new one, and save that one for a later time. Perhaps a time Ivan would feel more comfortable sharing. Arthur opened his mouth to speak but Ivan had already beat him to it.

"You know of my two sisters. I have not told you about my parents." Ivan paused. Arthur set the tip of his pen on the paper to begin writing any new information. Ivan waited for a while before continuing. This must have been the part he was hesitant to reveal. "I grew up for most of my days...without a mother or father. My mother. She died when I was young. I never knew my father. I was with my sisters all of the time."

Arthur nodded, writing every little detail he could. He moved his hand in a circular motion with his pen in hand, motioning for Ivan to continue. "Go on."

Ivan kept looking at the ceiling as be tried to recollect his childhood memories. "I was...what was that word? Content? Da. I was content as a boy." He sighed happily, giggling lightly to himself. "I would play 'P'yanitsa' and 'Wizards' with my sisters. I had so much fun in the snow. The other children never played with me, but I didn't care. I was happy. Me and my sisters all shared the house. We slept in the same room, and in the same bed. We made our own clothes, cooked our own food, and saved the little money we had on special things. That's why I hardly had toys to play with, even though I wanted some of the newer toys that the other boys and girls had. It made me a little...jealous, you could say. But, life was good." The glee he had slowly turned to melancholic nostalgia when Ivan kept telling his own story. "My sisters and I...we were the only ones left in my small home. We...barely. Yes. Barely...made it through the cold Russian winters. We had little food, little warmth. I had to work at a very young age." Ivan looked to the older scars on his body, possibly scars gained through this work he spoke about. Or so, he thinks. "My sisters were the only ones who took care of me, and I them. We were the only ones we had. We could not separate."

Arthur nodded slowly, listening to Ivan with sorrowful eyes. He had to admit, Ivan's past was...sad. He was at a lack of a better word. He always was. He was too busy listening to really think of one. But Ivan looked to Arthur and smiled. It was a small smile, wistful yet reassuring.

"Do not feel sorry for me, Arthur. I'm not one to pity." Arthur nodded at his response, but he still couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"And then...? What about your older years?"

Ivan straightened himself in his seat. "My life was the same. When I got older, I had to provide for my family. For my sisters. I worked day and night, I did not sleep. These scars you see," he said while holding his arms out, turning them so Arthur had a view of both sides "they are from the years that I worked. I worked in the snow, I...built machines. I did all things. And I got hurt. But after some time...it didn't hurt anymore."

Arthur wiped his eyes, feeling himself almost tear up. He had to control himself, though, since he couldn't let Ivan see him cry. He felt sympathy for Ivan, however. He couldn't help it. Trying to lighten the mood a little, Ivan looked back at the ceiling and spoke of different things. "I did many things on my own. I picked up a...what you would call a 'drinking habit', da? It is why I like vodka so much. I made friends with workers, like me. We helped each other. My life was difficult...but simple. I liked my life, then." The change in mood didn't last very long. "But...I always had something...'wrong' with me. In my head. I don't know how to explain..." Ivan scratched his neck, looking for words. Arthur inferred that he must have been referring to his mental issue. He'd have to suggest it delicately, though, or Ivan could act defensively.

"Your...mental problem?" Arthur tried.

Ivan frowned a bit, but nodded. "Da. I don't...like to say it. But yes. Mental problem. I have always had a mental problem. I would act...threatening. To everyone around me. Even my own sisters, sometimes...I didn't want to. I wanted to stop. But I couldn't. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with _me_." Ivan felt himself breathe out heavily, growing even more sorrowful. Arthur set his pen down and put his hand on Ivan's back to comfort him. Arthur was never very good at doing that, but he wanted to try just this once. For Ivan.

"Ivan, you don't have to continue if you don't want to..." Arthur assured. Ivan just shook his head from side to side, not letting his emotions get the best of him.

"No. I'm fine. Don't worry, Arthur." Ivan bit his lip and began to twiddle his thumbs, choking back a few tears. He inhaled through his nostrils, and spoke again. "When I turned 18, my life was not the same. I was taken away by these...men. Men in white. I remember what happened that day, but..."

"If you'd rather not talk about it, Ivan-" Ivan held his hand up and shook his head at Arthur, interrupting him for a brief moment.

"Please, Arthur...I can do this on my own. I will be okay." Arthur grabbed his pen and kept writing, releasing a small groan. He didn't want to force him to say what he didn't want to, but he kept insisting. Arthur just had to go along with it. "...I lost control. Why, I cannot remember. But I know...I know the innocent people I killed. The houses that I burned. I did not mean to...they were just caught in my rage. The men. They took me away. They took me to a place. It was dark...they ran tests. It was complicated. I don't want to remember it at all..." Arthur wrote and wrote, listening just as attentively, but writing with less enthusiasm. His writing was more fueled by the grief he felt for Ivan at this very point. He didn't want to let Ivan know that at all, for he knew that Ivan would just tell him it didn't matter, and that there was no need for Arthur to feel concerned over Ivan in any way at all. But that would make him feel terrible. He already felt terrible. For him. "Months passed...they did not feed me. They chained me. Tied me. And they would not let me leave at all. They were talking about my trial. It is a miracle I'm not already dead, or that I did not die while I was there." Ivan looked blankly at nothing, speaking nonchalantly as if it didn't really matter anymore. It was something Arthur couldn't understand. "They said I had to go to a 'hospital.' I was surprised. I wasn't going to die. I felt relieved, I think. Da. Relieved is the word. Happy, even. But when I got there...I realized...it was horrible. It was worse than where I first was. I was mistreated, like the rest of the people before me and the people already there. Not all of these bruises and marks are just from working hard..." Ivan held his arms out for Arthur again, pointing out some of the larger, deeper cuts. "These were made by them."

Arthur put his finger to the scar and traced it slowly. "That's awful..." He almost stuttered, but caught himself when Ivan stared back into his grieving emerald eyes.

"It isn't so bad, Arthur..." Ivan said. "These aren't as bad as my other ones..."

Arthur's eyes widened. There were worse ones? But this one was about as long as half of his arm! It looked so deep that he could have possibly bled out to death. Arthur's lips moved in different vowel shapes to try to form statements, but nothing came out from his mouth. He was surprised. Maybe even appalled. Who would do such a thing? Arthur removed his finger from Ivan's arm. Ivan talked more.

"They had told me many things. Some things they said were things I was already told. I could not go back to my sisters. I could not leave. I had to stay there until I was 'better', but I knew...I knew that was never going to happen. They told me I needed to see a special doctor to help with my illness."

"A psychiatrist, right?"

Ivan cocked his head and gave Arthur a look of utmost bafflement unlike Arthur had ever seen on a man. Especially on Ivan. Even his past looks of confusion did not compare to the one he gave just then. That term seemed to confuse Ivan most. He didn't know how to describe it too simply, but Arthur knew it was the doctor he was referring to.

"The special doctor you're talking about...those doctors are called psychiatrists. They specialize, or deal, with people who have...mental problems. Like you."

Ivan's eyebrows raised, and he looked as if he were beginning to understand the term. He repeated the word, like he did with every word he practiced to learn or liked. "Phsy...psychiatrist. Psychiatrist. I had to see a psychiatrist every week. To help with my problem. My...disability. He didn't help. He didn't know anything at all. He was wrong. They all were. They couldn't understand. But even I didn't understand. I didn't know how to feel about myself. But I didn't like them. I hated them..." Ivan glared intensively at the ground with his fists clenched. "I just wanted to...to..." Ivan stopped clenching his fists, but instead put the palms of his hands on both sides of his head and pressed down on his ears, as if trying to block out whatever inaudible sounds that were bothering him. He didn't like seeing Ivan this troubled, but he knew Ivan wasn't exactly..._sane_. He could do nothing more but look at him as he slowly rocked back and forth in the chair. Ivan looked as if he wanted to scream, and the man was even mumbling, and occasionally mouthing, words in his native language. He had no idea what they meant. Ivan looked so distraught that Arthur could feel his feelings wrapping around him, and making him feel as uneasy around Ivan as Ivan felt about talking about past experiences. He wanted to tell him to stop, for Ivan's sake. And even his own. Ivan was a little stubborn, though. He wouldn't stop. Arthur had already asked, and he said no. He didn't think he would stop now. Ivan's darkness now made its way throughout the room, and turned everything as obscure as he felt. Arthur saw it on his face. His face was almost unreadable, bur Arthur knew Ivan was far from joyful, or even neutral. Poor Ivan, he thought. He just wanted to put his arms around him and tell him everything will be okay. But that would be a lie, and he knew it. And even if it made Ivan feel better, he, too, would know that it was untrue. Arthur swallowed his regret and spun his pen in his fingers.

"Would you like to go on...?"

Ivan gave one small nod, and that was all he did. He calmed himself down. "Yes. I knew I had to stay there. I would not have cared as much if...the conditions were better. I had to get help, yes. Just not like that. Not there. I knew the first day I was there that I needed to leave. Leave forever."

Arthur realized he hadn't been getting any of this material, and started writing urgently on the piece of paper, thinking he's had enough to start with. He thinks the session could end now. He didn't want to extend this longer than it had to. Ivan might not like it. Yet, he wondered how much farther he could go? How much could he ask? Would Ivan set up some sort of boundary as to things he could ask and things he couldn't ask? That could be possible, but he saw no signs of anything like that being implemented by Ivan any time soon.

Ivan cleared his throat, leaving his hands on his lap. "Is that all you'd like to know?"

Arthur snapped out of his small stupor, and turned his head to Ivan. "Ah, yes. That will be all for today." Arthur set the piece of paper down on his desk, and left his pen on there as well. The irony of it is, that wasn't all he'd wanted to ask him for that session alone, but Arthur's time is not limited. He can ask him other questions some other day, when he feels more at ease talking about things having to deal with his "problem." He seemed like it was no trouble to talk about it, to describe it in detail, but Arthur can sense that it isn't as easy as it looks. Something, perhaps himself, ate him up inside, and Ivan couldn't help but feel the pain and suffering he's felt when he was put in that situation. Arthur gets that aching feeling in his chest. Something also unfamiliar, and unlike he's ever felt. It was odd. It was different. Strange. But mostly, the thought of Ivan feeling dreadfully disconsolate on the inside...it made Arthur feel almost as desolate as the man before stood up from his desk chair and pushed it away before he turned to the study door. He looked back at Ivan, and the man had already gotten up from his seat to follow, so he headed out the door, hoping to continue another session soon. Surely this was enough to start the introduction right?

"Can I have more toast now?"

"No."

(***)

Later that afternoon, Arthur had changed into a pair of short shorts and an over-sized sweater and lied down on his side to face the television, although he wasn't even watching it. He had to change into something more comfortable, after all. He didn't want to wear anything stuffy since he wasn't going anywhere. Sure, he didn't seem very proper at the moment, but he didn't need to. Surely Ivan didn't care how he dressed in the comfort of his own home. He had been reading a book that he just recently got and had been wanting to read for some time now, "Ulysses." He just started it, so he didn't know what to think about it yet, but he knew it was one of the more important works in Modernist literature. He was excited to read. He had just left the television on so he could hear accompanied by a voice and so the atmosphere wouldn't seem so empty. He liked to do that.

Ivan had been raiding his refrigerator in a search of vodka. He was distraught, and the search was what he referred to as "a vodka crisis", finding himself checking over 10 times for the vodka in his fridge that didn't even exist. He had tried telling him there was none, but he didn't listen the third time around that he checked. Ivan was silly. A "crisis" was too strong a word to describe his need for vodka, but he had just learned the use of it, so what else could Arthur do? Correct him? He could, but that would lower the man's confidence in speaking.

"Arthuuuur!" Ivan whined "There is absolutely no vodka in here! I'm still having a vodka crisis!"

"That's what I tried to tell you, Ivan! You didn't choose to listen to me after you decided to remove all of the contents of my refrigerator at all! It wasn't "hidden" in the back either, was it?" He grumbled. While Arthur flipped the page of his book, Ivan closed the refrigerator door and walked over to Arthur. He got on his knees to look at Arthur at eye level, or closer to eye level, and he once again beamed with those pleading amethysts at him at an attempt to make Arthur do something.

"Buy some?"

"No."

Ivan furrowed his brows and frowned deeply at Arthur, smacking his dry lips. "But I want vodka!" His childish side began to show thoroughly again but this time Arthur chose not to give in. The trick was to avoid the eyes.

"I said no."

"But you said you would! You promised!"

Arthur groaned and folded the corner of his book, to keep his place for later. Then, once he closed his book, he put his hands one the cushions to help himself up, no longer in resting position, and sat up with a slouch. He pinched the roof of his nose and looked at Ivan with a disapproving glare, like he was about to scold Ivan."If I buy some, would you be quiet?"

Ivan nodded once.

"Brill." He said with another sarcastic grunt, and then stood. He threw a pair of sandals on and opened the front door. "I'll be back soon."

Ivan looked at Arthur rather dubiously. "Arthur, are you going to go out like that?"

"What's wrong with the clothes I'm already wearing?" He said through clenched teeth.

"Nothing...but you look messy."

Arthur chucked his sandal at Ivan, hitting him in the chest, then ran over to quickly retrieve it and place it on his left foot. Then he walked out the door. "Twit."

/

Ivan rubbed his chest while closing the door and mocking the grumpy Englishman. "Twit."

Arthur had a fairly big house for someone who lives alone, Ivan thought. He pondered if Arthur ever got lonely, well, living all alone like this. Ivan yelled "vodka!" to see if the house did indeed echo with him being the only one there, but it didn't. He giggled, seeing as how he knew that wouldn't really work. Ivan wandered all throughout the empty house, but did not go outside. Not that he would really listen to Arthur's rules, but he knew better not to, or someone could spot him, and away he would go. Bye bye, Ivan.

He went up to Arthur's room again. He knew Arthur didn't have many things in his room aside from what he saw when he first arrived, so he began to speculate whether or not Arthur had something more. He checked Arthur's closet. It was just a bunch of clothes. It ranged from coats, sweaters, vests, sleek dress pants, jeans, and shirts. The usual. They all seemed very neat and formal, and all of these clothes seemed like something Arthur would wear. But there was another box in the closet. Ivan took it out of the closet, disregarding the fact he was meddling with Arthur's possibly personal and private things. Well, inside the box could be many mysteries! When he opened the box, he inspected more articles of clothing. He didn't think it was a big deal at first, but then he pulled out a jacket. It was leather, had spikes and many symbols on it, had several pockets, and on the back was a grey skull design.

Oh god. Arthur used to be punk.

Ivan bit on the inside of his cheek to prevent from bursting into laughter, pulling out more clothes. Ripped jeans. The pant legs seemed to be less wide that the other jeans he owned. He read the label on the inside of the pants. "Skinny jeans." He supposed they were quite "skinny" on the legs. Ivan even tried them on. It was a big mistake. The pants were far too tight! Plus, they didn't even fit him at all. Oh, what a dumb idea that was. He set the pants down and pulled more things out. Bandanas with the English flag printed on them, faded band t-shirts and some more punk patriotism-type British style shirts that were also way too small for Ivan to wear along with other dark gothic and black clothing, and leather combat boots. He actually thought the boots looked cool, though. Arthur also kept finger-less gloves. They were navy blue and it had his first name on one and his last on the other. Were these really Arthur's old clothes? Did he go through some sort of phase? Ivan put all of the clothes away and pushed the box back inside of the closet. He laughed. "Arthur, you're an interesting man."

After that, he was even more enthusiastic to see what else Arthur had in store. He looked through Arthur's cabinet, and found a pair of boxers that had a pair of bridges on them. They were the London bridges. Ivan stifled another laugh, and put them back in the drawer. He found another pair, another one with the British flag on it, and chuckled some more. He absolutely lost it when he found a speedo that said "naughty Brit" on the back, written in hot pink lettering while the speedo was a baby blue, and a scarlet g-string. He threw both straight to the ground and fell to the floor with his arms around his stomach.

"О, боже! Артур, это просто смешно!" Lying on the floor, he picked up the flimsy speedo and stretched it on both sides on his big hands. He could never picture Arthur wearing something like this at all! Was he really the same person? What a small little thing! Arthur must have been forced into wearing this. Ivan flung the small pink speedo inside of the open drawer, and examined the g-string. But this. This was far worse! Why would Arthur have a g-string? Why was it so bright and red? So many questions, yet so little answers. He needed to make Arthur wear these one of these days. He threw that in, too, and closed the drawer shut. This couldn't have been all of it. Ivan knew Arthur had more. But what?

Ivan searched the rest of the room, checking the smaller drawers of his writing desk, under Arthur's pillows, even inside of the flower vase to see if he has any hidden secrets inside of the most inexplicable places. Ivan found a spell book amongst another pile of books Arthur had in the corner of his room. He wondered what that was for? Well, it wasn't as interesting. Ivan found some poems. Ivan loved poetry, but he couldn't seem to understand the writing. It wasn't too clear and the words he could read didn't make sense to him. The vocabulary was very extensive. CD's, record albums, home videos, old photographs of Arthur and past-friends, and not to mention, his possible family members. Why weren't these downstairs with the other photos? Ivan didn't think there as anything else in the room, but there's one place he hadn't checked yet. That was under Arthur's bed. Sure, no one ever really kept anything under their beds...unless...

Ivan crouched down on his knees and peeked a head under Arthur's bed. What he saw was something he'd never stop bothering Arthur about. This definitely competed with the speedo and the red g-string!

Magazines. _Dirty_ magazines. Erotic, hard-core, sensual fantasy type magazines. Ivan blushed deeply when he took one and opened one hesitantly. "O-Oh...I didn't think anyone was so...flexible." Ivan looked under the bed again. There was a whole stack of them! Followed by another, and another! And all of them were male on male, of course. After all, Arthur was...

Ivan returned to the magazine. He turned the page and blushed even more. His face grew warmer with every page-turn he made, and he thought more than once of putting the magazine down, but he couldn't. This was all so...fascinating. He didn't know some of the positions in this magazines were even considered "positions" or even existed until now. In fact, he didn't even know magazines like this existed. Although, Ivan had to admit, it was getting him hard. Ivan hadn't had any sexual encounters since he was a younger man. Having to take care of himself, he knew it was one of the steps to becoming a man. It didn't happen often, in fact not many times, but he did have interactions with some of the prostitutes that hung around near the alleyways. It may have not been very prideful, but he was young then. Hormones ran wild in his adolescent body. But he was much older now and he hasn't been laid in about 8 years. He's been looking for a fucking for a while, and his sexual urges had been stored inside of him the entire time he was in the asylum. His sexual orientation was rather unknown at this point, but he could probably define it as pansexual. However, he couldn't take advantage of Arthur forcefully, no! That would completely change his opinion of him. Arthur would kick him out of the house as soon as Ivan could blink. That is, unless...Arthur enjoys it. Ivan kept studying the magazine more thoroughly, while palming at his growing erection. Another thing he'd shamefully admit to is he did find Arthur attractive. Those narrow hips and small body were frail and probably sensitive, and it raised his arousal even more knowing that he could easily pounce on Arthur and take him right then and there. Arthur could probably put up some of a fight at first, but he and Ivan both knew, in the end, he could have Arthur down on his knees. Ivan bit his lip. He couldn't do that just to satisfy his sexual desires, but he knew they hadn't been met in an awfully, long time. He felt some compensation was in order. Was Arthur a virgin?

He was no longer looking at the magazine, but touching at his hard member trough the cloth of his pants. He whipped it out impatiently and began to stroke himself. He bit his lip once again. He thought of so many things that he could do to Arthur. Arthur, the pale, creamy blonde beauty that could scream Ivan's name so many times, his voice would grow hoarse. After all, he had the ability. He _was_ "bigger" than the average male. He'd have Arthur in bed, begging for more, and clinging to Ivan, never wanting him stop. That's exactly how it would go. He threw his head back imagining the British man moan through those cute, pink lips of his. How he longed for them to quiver. Ivan thought it probably the best thing to think of Arthur in this way, in an obscene and impure way, but the thought of Arthur under his arms made his needs desperate for something more.

Ivan stopped as soon as he heard Arthur call from downstairs.

"Ivan, I'm home! I got your damn vodka."

He jammed his hard cock back inside of his pants with a dissatisfied frown. He didn't even get to finish. Couldn't he have some freedom after finally having his arms and hands free of a strait-jacket? Oh, well. At least there was vodka. Before walking downstairs, Ivan washed his hands so the scent wasn't left behind. As he walked downstairs, with a small skip in his step, he brought the magazine behind him, a smirk playing on his lips. He hugged Arthur, hiding the magazine. "Thank you~"

The Englishman looked back at Ivan with cheeks covered in light pink hues, and a frown growing on his face. "S-Stop being so clingy and drink your stupid liquor already...wanker."

Typical Arthur.

"Fine." Ivan grabbed a bottle, popped it open, and let the liquor fill his throat. The familiar warmth and burning sensation the alcohol brought pleased him, but it would take more getting used to. He took another small sip. "I appreciate it."

"Great." Arthur threw his sandals off and walked along barefoot on the hardwood floor. He want back to his spot on the sofa and continued reading his book. Ivan grinned. He held the magazine close behind his back and walked over to the sofa, behind Arthur.

"Oh, Arthuuur~" he said with a sing-song voice. "I found something. I thought you would like to see it."

Arthur hummed. He didn't raise his head to look away from his book, but he didn't tell Ivan he didn't care, so he decided that Arthur was listening.

"You'll have to look up if you want to seeee..."Ivan wiggled the magazine in his hands before moving it away from his back and slowly bringing it up to his chest. He could tell Arthur rolled his eyes at that, even if he wasn't looking at him, and he titled his head up so he could look at Ivan.

"What is it, Ivan? I'm trying to read."

Ivan's Cheshire grin extended from ear to ear as he held the magazine in Arthur's view. "Oh, just this little thing I found hiding under your bed~"

Arthur's jaw flung open, and instantly, Arthur snatched the magazine away from Ivan, tucking it under his arms."Blast! W-Where in god's name did you find this?!"

"Like I said, under your bed. But what was a naughty magazine doing under your bed, Arthur? I did not imagine you were into that sort of thing." Ivan smirked at the Englishman's flustered face, heating up and darkening in red.

"S-Shut up, Braginski! You're a nosy little bugger, aren't you? I have the right mind to smack you in the face with this." Arthur ran upstairs, likely to put the magazine away in the same place he found it, and ran back downstairs.

Ivan giggled. "Well, I do like to snoop around~"

"How much did you read?" Arthur asked.

Ivan balanced on the heels of his feet, and grinned again. "Oh, I think..._all_ of it~"

Arthur's brow twitched, and he walked close to Ivan, their chests pressing against each other. Arthur grabbed hold of Ivan's cheeks. "Do not look through my things, Ivan. You're invading my privacy, you know."

Ivan wiggled his own eyebrows, and his lips curled on either ends into a more rounded, child-like grin. "Oh, but it is so much fun to look through your things. And besides...the magazine was very erotic, da?~"

"Duffer..." Arthur slapped Ivan's cheek, not hard, though. "I said, don't. Understand?"

Ivan shook his head and leaned in a little closer to Arthur, making their noses touch. "No. And at least I didn't look through the rest. Say, Arthur, can you put your leg over your head like the men in the magazine?~" He teased.

Arthur growled at him. He looked as if he were about to beat Ivan to a pulp, if he could.

"Oh...then this might not be the best time to mention the g-string and speedo, da?"

"You actually found those?! I'll kill you for that!"

Arthur tackled Ivan, catching him off guard. Ivan found himself on the ground with Arthur right on top of him, trying to strangle Ivan. Ivan kept Arthur's hands away, but Arthur persevered. He didn't succeed, however, in strangling Ivan. Ivan knew he wouldn't. Arthur wasn't very strong. Ivan chuckled. Arthur was cute when he was mad.

But Ivan noticed...Arthur was sitting right on top of Ivan's crotch. This might have not been the best time, but the frustrated blonde on top of him made his lower regions stir. He put his hands on Arthur's hips without thinking, and lightly thrust upwards, biting the inside of his lip. The position was perfect, he thought. Ivan would have moaned, but Arthur would notice. He could feel his arousal rise in his pants once more. If only Arthur could ride him like this. Arthur, instead, was too busy trying to teach Ivan some manners and putting his face close to his with a deep scowl. How he didn't notice, Ivan didn't know, but he was relieved he didn't.

"You've got some nerve..." Arthur glared at Ivan with piercing emeralds, and he with his own amethysts. Arthur was so close to him. He couldn't resist Arthur like this. Ivan would lose it. He could lean in a little closer and...

That was the point Ivan closed the gap and made their lips meet. He could hear Arthur yelp in Ivan's lips, but Arthur didn't make any attempts to pull away. In fact, Arthur found himself kissing back and wrapping his arms around Ivan's neck. Ivan was right. Arthur's lips were very soft. He found himself, too, wrapping his own arms around Arthur's small waist, and pulling him closer. Arthur had to pull away for air.

"I-Ivan..." he looked at Ivan hazily, like Arthur was caught in some sort of glaze. His crimson face burned when it got close to Ivan. His eyes no longer threw daggers at Ivan's direction, but were filled with astonishing vulnerability that the Russian had never seen Arthur express before. He looked adorable. "W-We shouldn't...I-I..." Arthur kept stuttering, not even making direct contact with Ivan anymore. If a simple kiss could do just this, then Ivan wondered what else he could make Arthur do. He smiled.

"I didn't see you try to stop me, Arthur..." He kissed Arthur again, this time only a soft peck on his lips. Arthur looked away bashfully, his lips quivering a little. He could feel the rapid heartbeat growing and pounding hard against Arthur's firm chest, and he could hear his wobbly breathing shaking every time his chest bounced. Arthur was nervous. _Very_ nervous. And Ivan was hardly doing anything. "Did you like the kiss?"

Arthur looked straight at him this time. His lips made those similar vowel shapes and movements, but he said nothing. Eventually, Arthur's throat was no longer choked up, and he put his lips near Ivan's, almost brushing them against his. "I-I...maybe I did. So what?" Arthur put his forehead on Ivan's and stared deep into his eyes. Arthur seemed to do that frequently now. But he couldn't argue, since he did the same with him.

"Nothing...but there must be a reason..." Ivan cut himself off by kissing Arthur quickly "that you didn't mind the kiss, right?"

Arthur's blushing face twisted and Arthur's expression turned to that of a very embarrassed sort. Not that Arthur wasn't already highly uneasy. "W-Well..." He knew Arthur wouldn't be able to explain. He just stared at the agitated Englishman with an amused smile, waiting for a response. Arthur just sighed and brought his lips back to Ivan's. "The reason why doesn't matter right now, a-alright?" Arthur urged.

Ivan chuckled. "Alright."

Arthur kissed him again, and again, until the two began to make out in the middle of the sitting room. Ivan licked Arthur's lower lip, begging for entrance inside of the Brit's mouth. Arthur parted his lips without hesitation, and let his mouth be explored by Ivan's tongue. He found Arthur's tongue, and intertwined them as soon as they met. He struggled and danced with Arthur's tongue skillfully,receiving a small moan from Arthur. They continued in this way, occasionally pausing to take a breather, until Ivan sat up and carried Arthur onto the sofa, not stopping for a minute, and made him lie down. Ivan kept his hands on Arthur's hips, and he moved down to kiss his neck. Arthur's gasped breathlessly every time Ivan put his firm lips on the Englishman's sensitive neck. Ivan put a free hand on the back of Arthur's neck, keeping him still as he bit down on his neck softly, sinking his teeth deep into Arthur. Arthur moaned and ran his fingers through Ivan's soft silvery locks, squirming with Ivan's canines on his gentle skin. He called out his name in a soft-spoken way, making Ivan's loins tremble with excitement. Ivan started to go even further. He removed his teeth and kissed Arthur around his neck until he found the spot that drove Arthur the weakest. Once he found it, he sucked and nibbled on it, stroking his wet tongue against his skin. He eventually gave Arthur a hickie, but Arthur cried out in pleasure with Ivan's mouth toying with his neck with a high expertise.

"Look at me, Arthur." Ivan said with a sexy, smoky voice. He brought his lips to Arthur's ear and whispered. "I want to feel your eyes on me while I touch you."

Arthur shivered, but ultimately complied. He stared at Ivan shyly as he started to allocate himself on Arthur's chest and stomach. Ivan pulled Arthur's sweater up and off, then threw it to the side. Similarly, he left a trail of soft pecks and kisses up and down his body, then went back up and put his fingers on both of Arthur's perky nipples.

"You're already hard here. How cute."

Arthur whimpered and managed a small frown at Ivan. "I-It isn't cute..."

"Da, it is." Ivan put his tongue on Arthur's right nipple, making Arthur quickly recoil. "Did you not like that?"

"N-No, it's just...it felt good. Do it again." He admitted.

Ivan smiled and brought his tongue back onto Arthur's nipple. He licked and wrapped his entire tongue around the small, little ring Arthur had on his chest, and sucked on it fluently. Ivan rubbed the other slowly with his finger, and Arthur gave off several breathy moans. It was just as Ivan was just as, if not, more feeble than Ivan suspected. He'd have to be careful not to hurt him. He knew how much he would enjoy this. He removed his tongue and began to tease the other nipple, Arthur keeping far from quiet with every touch Ivan gave. He kept his emeralds right on Ivan, like he was instructed to. Arthur followed direction even better than he did. Ivan took a second to look at how Arthur was doing. Arthur was red all over, both his face, ears, and even some other areas along the rest of his at least, what was visible to Ivan. His mouth was open a little wider than anticipated, the Englishman panting heavily under Ivan's weight. He inhaled in and out, his chest moving with each second when he reached for oxygen. Ivan knew, now, how affective his foreplay had been. He moved back to his lips to kiss the Brit. He rubbed at Arthur's sides, easing his hands discretely onto Arthur's ass. "Do you want me Arthur?" he cooed.

Arthur was hesitant. He looked at Ivan with a sort of worry in his eyes, the enticement and the appeal making Arthur's own needs grow and his decisions null. Arthur looked up to Ivan. Those tentative eyes of Arthur's began to falter, and he pushed Ivan away.

"N-No, Ivan...I can't do this. I'm sorry." Arthur sat up and he got off the sofa. After he picked up his sweater, he shot Ivan one last glance, and threw it on. He ran back upstairs hurriedly.

And Ivan was left there wondering; what did he do wrong?

(***)

Ivan didn't go after Arthur. He had been sitting on the sofa for a half and hour since Arthur went to face him. He couldn't go up. Arthur wouldn't want to speak to him after that. He knew he shouldn't have led Arthur on like that, but what did he _do_? Arthur was moaning for him, he was hot for Ivan! He even said Ivan was making him feel good. Arthur was just about ready to beg for Ivan. And now, he's upstairs doing who knows what, leaving Ivan down here alone in the living room. What made him change his mind? What was there to think about? Ivan didn't understand. Arthur really was a convoluted and problematic man. One minute everything was fine, and the next, Arthur was running away from him. Was he too rough? Too demanding? What happened to their moment?

Ivan decided to take the time to write another diary entry. This one was much longer than the other. His strokes were rushed and messy because of the sexual frustration and longing for Arthur that was left to be desired.

_Dear Diary,_

_What just happened? To think all of this happened because I was sneaking around Arthur's room. It started off so wonderfully. I finally got the courage to kiss Arthur (his lips were very soft.) He even kissed me back. He was very warm, and I think he may have been aroused, too. My groin still feels tight. I want Arthur bad. I want to be inside of Arthur. There are so many things I would do to him. But he brushed me off like he did not want me. I would feel offended but I should have expected this. He ran back to his room and I don't know what hes doing. It was really nice at first. I thought I would actually get to fuck him! Arthur seemed like he wanted me, though. He was moaning (he has the most adorable moans, too) and groaning and listening to me. He was just too cute. I want to make love to Arthur but hes unsure if he wants to make love with me. I just want a release. It may seems wrong but I havent had sex in a very long time. Men have needs. I wonder if Arthur didnt want to because he really was a virgin. He did not seem like a virgin. Many men must want Arthur. If he is a virgin then I won't let those men have him. If he isnt, then I dont know what I would do, but Im not letting men have him anyway. Maybe Arthur didnt want to ruin our friendship. I hope this doesnt change our relationship. I still want to be friends. (But if he wants to be more, I would not mind that either.) This is bad. I'm getting hard again._

_- Ivan_

Ivan read it over, and realized how much he sounded like some angsty teenage boy. He had expressed his feelings, though, and he felt a little bit better. Ivan quietly went upstairs and hid his diary, then went back downstairs. What could he do now? Ivan noticed the bottles of vodka still sitting outside on the counter. They must have been warm by now, he thought. He went to go get one, but amazingly, they were still cold. He figured there was only one thing left to do now. And that was getting wasted. He opened the bottle and held it in the air.

"Ура..." He said leisurely. With that, Ivan took a chug of the vodka and forced himself to drink it all. The recognizable response to his senses that he was accustomed to had been slowly returning to him. There was only one way to bring back it's full former glory, so he took another bottle, popped it open, and drank. Bottle after bottle, Ivan took his last drink with a loud gulp, and frowned at the empty bottle when it was all gone. He held it upside down to see if any way left, but not a single drop came out. Ivan had single-handedly drank all 12 bottles of vodka Arthur bought in no less than 5 minutes. What a drunkard he was, or rather, he used to be. Twelve would be nothing for him if he were younger, then again, he didn't have much to work him. Ivan felt slightly tipsy. He noticed the room began to shift a bit whenever he took a step, but he paid it no mind. Later on, the room shifted even more. Then it spun. Ivan tried to speak, but ended up slurring throughout his entire sentence. Everything was moving, he had double-vision, and then, he heard a thud. Everything was black.

Ivan passed out on the hardwood floor seconds later.

End of Chapter 4 TBC

* * *

**((*О, боже! Артур, это просто смешно! - Oh, my God! Arthur, this is just ridiculous!**

***Ура - Cheers**

**Author's Note: Ha, delays again! (^_^;) I fell into a bit of a writer's block when writing this chapter, because I hadn't worked out all of the smaller details.**

**But whoa, they almost did it!**

** In the end, I knew I wouldn't make this a full smut chapter because Arthur still needs to figure out how he feels about Ivan. Sorry to ruin anyone's hopes. Also, mildly possessive Ivan. Let me point out how awkward writing that diary entry was...I didn't know Ivan could be so open to writing that in his diary, either. Yes, some of the mistakes were also intentional. Chapter 5 awaits! ~Tsusuko))**


	5. Chapter 5

**((*Warning(s): Yaoi, Some Suggestive Language**

***Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. All credit goes to the original creator, Hidekazu Himaruya.))**

* * *

What _was_ that? What had he just done with Ivan?

Arthur slumped down to the floor with his back against the door, still hot and flushed from the previous play. How obscene! How dastardly and disgraceful he must have acted! Shame on you, Arthur! But he couldn't help but notice that...it was very shook his head.

"No, no! Stop thinking about it, it was _not_ stimulating! I don't like Ivan, I'm not attracted to him, and I'm certainly never going to let anything like that happen again!"

Everything he said, however, were lies. And deep down, he knew they were lies. He just couldn't admit it to himself. Arthur, too, was hard from what Ivan had just done to him. He was very good with his hands, even when it came for foreplay. Arthur groaned again. "Stop it, stop it! He was not good!"

Arthur, frustrated and bothered, brought his hand down to his groin. He rubbed himself slowly in a bit of a circular motion, thinking about Ivan, even though every little voice in his head was telling him not to. It wasn't right, although it's been a while since Arthur's been touched like this. By another man, he means. Arthur touches himself like this usually more than...well, it didn't matter! Arthur moved his hand away and let his head hit the door, sighing. He wouldn't go as far as to say his relationship, or "friendship" with Ivan had been ruined, but it certainly wasn't in the best position at this point at all. Position...God, that wasn't the word he wanted to use in this point in time! He shook his head. "I just can't seem to catch a break..."

He stood up and flopped on his bed, grabbing a small pillow and holding it close to his chest. He looked at the wall with dead eyes. He didn't even want to have this though in his mind or spend the rest of his time engrossed in the though. He envisaged it far too much. He had to stop. He couldn't think of anything else. Not at all. Not now. Ivan was stuck in the Brit's poor mind. His heart kept beating at that same quirky, erratic pace. It didn't ease up. All of it was because of the moment he had with Ivan downstairs. Arthur didn't know _what_ to think anymore. He liked it. He really liked what Ivan did, but only for a sexual purpose or because he had need to that had to be fulfilled. That was all, wasn't it? He was ashamed of the way he acted with Ivan. He was vulnerable, he didn't expect any of that to happen. Nevertheless, Arthur moaned and gasped to Ivan's every touch. He wanted him, like Ivan wanted Arthur. Normally, that's what a man who hasn't had recent sexual encounters would, well, _want_. He hasn't done it with many men in his life. He certainly didn't happen to have sex consecutively, but he did enjoy the past encounters when they happened. Well, he liked one out of the two...yes, it wasn't many, but Arthur wasn't the type who slept around like that. He had pride. Francis always joked his lack of sex was why he was always pessimistic and grumpy. Stupid perverted Frenchie. at least he wasn't a virgin anymore. But he felt something more at the same time. Even while it was still happening. Something he could not describe, not with words. In addition to his heart beating this way (or much worse than how it was beating right now), his breathing turned shaky, his face turned red, caked with a small glow when their lips met, and his entire body, his essence and his being, they felt as though they were soaring in the air when Ivan's body touched and moved against his own. He was in heaven with Ivan. He loved every minute of what happened down there. With him. Yet, that was what sickened him most. Literally. Arthur felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it. Apprehending the thought is something he could not do. Arthur didn't want to feel this way. He didn't want to hear Ivan's silvery voice, look at his amethyst eyes, put a hand to his platinum blonde hair, touch his pale skin...he didn't want whatever this was. It couldn't be what he thought it was. Never. He could not speak the broken "l" word.

Arthur didn't want to accept that it could have been anything more than what it was.

Arthur began to whimper, voice wobbly when he squeezed the pillow. His heart seemed to ache under the light weight of the fluffy object. He felt like sobbing openly, but for what? The warm comfort that the pillow gave him was all he had, and even that didn't seem to appease him. He needed to calm down. He just had to act like it was all okay. He needed to welcome the fact that he can't erase what happened, and put it behind him. Everything was okay, even when it wasn't. He didn't want Ivan to feel awkward around him, it would ruin this entire plan. And Arthur wouldn't be able to get what he wanted. He's willing to forgive Ivan. He just hopes Ivan forgets this as easy as he will...if Arthur gets over it, that is. He straightened himself out. He'll just tell Ivan that everything is fine, that he was fine, and see where it'll go from there. It might take a bit, but surely Ivan will understand and feel similar to Arthur about the mishap. It will all return to its former tranquility. He'll have Ivan feel as prosperous as himself in no time. He hummed with some relief, tensions slowly washing away and being cleansed from his mind.

Speaking of Ivan, he's a bit surprised he didn't come to follow him...maybe he was too afraid he did something wrong that he couldn't come upstairs to talk to Arthur. Arthur was unsure whether or not he would really want him to follow, though. Ivan must regret his actions. His eyes lowered with guilt, and he sat up with his pillow still in his arms. He had to go and apologize, as well. After all, he just ran out of the room without giving the man any explanation. But he just couldn't stay. Not with Ivan all over his body that way. He couldn't leave Ivan like that, though. He hopped out of bed again and hesitantly walked down the stairs, hoping Ivan didn't run off anywhere. He didn't want to go on an endless search.

"I-Ivan...? Ivan, are you down there?" He said in a low voice. Arthur didn't receive a response, besides the emptiness and silence in the sitting room and the hollow ticking of the grandfather clock in the other room.

"Ivan...?" He repeated as soon as he got off of the last step. Still nothing. Arthur scratched his head. Was Ivan ignoring him? He wouldn't be surprised if he was. Arthur stepped into the sitting and was shocked to see Ivan's unconscious body lying on the floor, lifeless. He had a single bottle of vodka in his hand.

Right. The vodka.

Arthur winced and pinched the roof of his nose again. "Of course. No wonder..." He walked over and kneeled down to poke Ivan's body. He got drunk and now he's knocked out cold. He shook Ivan's body and called his name. "Ivan...Ivan, get up. Get up, git!" He sighed for the millionth time today. He honestly didn't expect this. He said he had a drinking problem, but he didn't think it was this bad at first. Maybe his assumptions were misguided, then. He tried to pull Ivan up from the floor, but the man was a behemoth. He was far too heavy and large for Arthur to carry him. Besides, Arthur hardly had any upper body strength. That was because he didn't work out very often...he had himself to blame for that. He left Ivan where he was and hoped he would get up soon. He walked around to pick up the rest of the bottles Ivan left lying around, throwing away all eleven of them, including the one Ivan was holding. What a mess. He really must have been a heavy drinker. He sat with his legs crossed next to Ivan's body, rubbing his back as if trying to console him after he picked everything up.

"Hope you're alright, Ivan..." He muttered. He glanced at Ivan's body. Ivan didn't make a sound, but he did smell strongly of vodka and even of a faint hint of sunflowers...he wondered why that was? 'Poor lad. I'm sure he drank himself this way because he was upset about what happened, too.' He thought. Arthur's regrets came back to haunt him once again. His lips formed a frown. He put his arm over Ivan's back, moving to lie down next to him.

Suddenly there was a loud pounding at the front door. Arthur stood up to go answer the door, immediately wishing he hadn't opened it as soon as he saw the two police officers standing at his door.

Arthur's body turned tense as he clutched the door with his hand, ready to slam it close and hide. "Yes...?" Arthur asked, trying his absolute hardest not to stutter.

An officer with brown hair and pale eyes spoke to Arthur, the other a dirty blonde who seemed a little older than the other officer standing next to him quietly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Kirkland. I'm officer Andrei, and this is my partner, Jenkins."

The blonde man who identified as Jenkins gave a nod of his head. "Sorry to intrude, but we have orders to inspect your house. You know, what with the whole lunatic incident. We've already checked houses before yours, so we'll have to look through yours. Don't worry, it won't take very long, assuming you don't have him. You don't mind if we come in, do you?" He spoke with an English accent, as well. He must have lived here for a while, Arthur thought.

Arthur tried his best not to seem suspicious, so he waved his hand and ushered them in. "Not at all. Please, come in..." Arthur opened the door a bit wider and the two men stepped in. Arthur paused. The body!

"Shit!" he hissed to himself. Arthur looked at the two frantically and stepped quickly inside the living room without them noticing. He had to do something with this! Where could he put it? Somewhere they wouldn't find? He heard the men conversing and assigning who would check upstairs and who would check downstairs. Jenkins went up the stairs, and Andrei called to Arthur from where he stood.

"Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur quickly rolled Ivan's huge body under the sofa. He had no idea what powered him to do that, but now wasn't the time to be marveled by it. Surprisingly, Ivan's body wasn't visible at all under there. "Uh, yes? I'm in the sitting room."

Andrei stepped in the room and began to search it with Arthur still there. "Ah, okay. You live alone, right, Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, I do. Just me in here...in my humble little home... " He said stiffly. He hoped Andrei wouldn't look under the sofa, but would anyone really suspect someone 6 feet tall and as broad as Ivan to be hiding under a sofa? Hopefully not.

"Right..." Andrei replied. He noticed all the vodka bottles in the trash can, and raised a questioning eyebrow at the Englishman. "Been doing a lot of drinking recently?"

Arthur blushed a little and cleared his throat. That was all Ivan, but he clearly couldn't admit to that. "O-Oh, uh...yeah, a little." What an unbelievable cover-up, but he didn't think the officers could tell the difference.

"Hmm. I wouldn't call it a little." He chuckled. Andrei proceeded to walk around the room. He started to check some of the closets, his back turned. Arthur put a hand to his face in relief. They just had to check everything else and they'd be gone. Andrei wasn't to check under the sofa, and maybe this little scheme would work after all. After felt like he cheated his way out of this, and he smiled. He was in the clear.

"Make sure to check all of the smaller spaces, like under the sofa, 'Drei! You can never be too thorough." He heard Jenkins call from upstairs.

Oh no.

Andrei grunted and turned his head upwards. "I still say you're an idiot, Alex, but fine!" He rolled his eyes at his partner. "Dumbass."

"Don't call me a dumbass when you know I'm right. You always check after I tell you!" He replied gruffly.

Arthur cursed under his breath quickly pulled Ivan out with all of his remaining strength out of the sofa, and dragged him over to a space behind the counter and in his kitchen, where he couldn't be visible. At that moment, Andrei checked under the sofa and began to walk away, yelling at Jenkins from downstairs, telling him how he was full of it. He figured these types of little arguments happened regularly for them, but that was the last thing on his mind. He clutched his heart and bent forward, groaning with appeasement. That was too close, he thought. He set his hand on the counter-top and looked at Ivan's body. The trouble he's going through for this man...

"God, that man...uh, Mr. Kirkland...are you alright?" Asked Andrei.

Arthur didn't realize he had been panting the entire time he was standing there. He looked at Andrei and smiled nervously, waving at him. "U-Uh, no, I'm quite alright! And please, call me Arthur..."

Andrei nodded slowly. "Okay, Arthur...you mind if I check the kitchen?" Andrei stepped closer, and Arthur quickly stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest in fear that Andrei might see the body. He was almost close to enough for Ivan to be in his line of view. Arthur began to shake, and was about to scream, telling Andrei not to come any closer. That is, until Jenkins called from above again.

"Cor! Look at all the porn mags this bloke keeps under his bed!"

Jenkins cackled from upstairs as soon as Andrei stopped in his tracks. He looked at Arthur apologetically and looked up. "Alex! You pervert, don't look at them! I'm so sorry about this, Arthur..." Andrei walked upstairs to go and chastise his partner and Arthur hastily pulled Ivan inside of a closet Andrei had already checked before. That is it...he's had enough of lugging Ivan around! But if he didn't hide him, he'd have his ass thrown in jail. Both of their asses, in fact. He knew he had no other choice. He knew what would happen to them...

Wait, what was Jenkins doing with his magazines!

Arthur blushed madly when both Andrei and his degenerate of a partner came back downstairs, Jenkins snickering and biting his lip to try to stop laughing. Andrei nudged him in the shoulder to make him stop, and he glared at Jenkins before looking at Arthur again. "Well, Arthur, you're all good. You aren't harboring a criminal, or hiding anything suspicious. Sorry for disturbing you."

"Yeah, but those magazines were _something_, if you ask me-" Andrei cut him off by punching him in the arm, receiving a cry from Jenkins. "Ow, what was that for?!"

"You know perfectly well what it was for, Alexander...um, goodbye, Mr. Kirkland. If you see the man we're looking for, don't hesitate to contact us or other officials." Andrei headed towards the door with Jenkins, or Alexander, who was still rubbing his arm.

"But you saw those magazines too, right? They were crazy!" cried Jenkins.

Andrei scoffed. "You liked them."

"I did not!"

"Please, you're as straight as a circle. You liked them." With that, the pair walked out of Arthur's door and Arthur was left standing there alone.

"Well, they certainly were an interesting duo..." Arthur though aloud.

Arthur heard a thud coming from behind him and he turned around. Ivan had fallen out of the closet. Arthur brought his palm to his face.

"Great timing."

/

Ivan was having a dream. The best dream, or, in fact, the only dream he's had in a long time. And it involved none other than Arthur.

_Ivan had been sitting on the sofa, sulking like he was before when Arthur ran upstairs, when Arthur came back downstairs. Ivan started to talk to him and apologized for his behavior earlier, but Arthur didn't respond. Arthur was silent, not a word escaping from his mouth. But there was this look in Arthur's eyes, a very seductive and lustful look radiating from his green pupils. He smiled at Ivan and climbed on top of Ivan's body, sitting atop of his crotch again. He started to strip by taking his sweater, shorts, and boxers off. Ivan just lied back there on the sofa, admiring his naked body, not exactly wondering why Arthur suddenly changed his mind. How could he complain? He touched Arthur's soft skin, and Arthur moaned back at him softly as he kept running his hand along Arthur's bare chest. He lowered both of his hands even more to cup at Arthur's firm ass cheeks, receiving yet another gasp from the Englishman. Arthur bit his lip and leaned down to kiss Ivan, taking Ivan's shirt off while doing so. Arthur used a freehand to touch at Ivan's arousal, and Ivan moaned right back at him. He touched his clothed member until Ivan's cock rose to its peak. Arthur smiled at the size, although his length wasn't fully visible in his pants, and he kept stroking it even more with his hand. He couldn't take the teasing anymore. He had to have Arthur now._

_Ivan quickly sat up, carrying Arthur and setting him down on his lap. The Brit looked startled, Ivan's erection poking at his backside, but once Ivan pressed his lips against Arthur's, he closed his eyes and hummed into Ivan's lips, kissing him back. He made Arthur lie back while Ivan finished unbuttoning his pants, taking them off swiftly, along with his own boxers. Finally. He could have him. He leaned in close and made their groins touch, grinding them against each other. Arthur put his hand on Ivan's neck and threw his head back, moaning. He looked at Ivan with those defenseless little emeralds of his, knowing he was completely exposed, Ivan's for the taking. Once Ivan moved the head of his cock to Arthur's entrance, Arthur opened his mouth while moving in close, lips right next to Ivan's ear. He called to him. But something was off with the way he called to Ivan. He just knew it._

_"Ivan! Wake up, you Russian wanker!"_

_He looked at Arthur, stunned. Wait, that wasn't right! Arthur was supposed to be turned on, not annoyed! He wanted Arthur to tell him to put it in. Why did he yell at him...? All of a sudden, Ivan felt a sudden chill come across his entire body, making his spine tingle._

Ivan's eyes shot open to see Arthur. Except, he was standing above him, and not lying below him. Ivan pouted in disappointment. So much for that dream. He looked down at his clothes. It turns out he was soaking wet, and that he was no longer lying on the sofa, but inside of a bath tub...

"Why am I in a bath tub...?" Ivan asked.

Arthur sighed and motioned for Ivan to sit up. "I had to carry you in here so I could get you up. Lord, you have no idea how long that took. But anyway...I tried all other means to try to wake you, but you were out cold. Honestly, I didn't think this would work, but at least you're up now."

Ivan stared at Arthur as he sat up in the tub, puzzled. "I was knocked out...?"

"Do you remember how many bottles of vodka you had? Yes, you must have passed out after you drank them all." Arthur started to walk away, Ivan following him as soon as he stood up. Arthur turned around and stopped him.

"Ah, ah! You're not leaving the bathroom like that! You're all wet. I left some other clothes for you right here. Leave when you've changed."

Ivan groaned and took his shirt off as soon as Arthur left the bathroom. After changing into some cleaner, warmer clothes, he went to find Arthur, who was in the kitchen, making a cup of tea.

"God, that was close..." Arthur muttered.

"What was close?"

He turned around to look at Ivan, his expression slightly worried, slightly relieved. He took a sip of his tea, and smacked his lips. "Well...we had a bit of a problem while you were unconscious."

"A problem?" Ivan asked. "What kind of problem?"

Arthur looked down and ran his hand through his hair, drinking the rest of his tea. "The police came in search for you. I had to hide you so they wouldn't find your body. It was a lot of trouble to go through, but luckily, they didn't spot you. We'll be fine...for now."

Ivan looked back at Arthur with that same worried expression, beginning to sweat a little. He took a nervous breath. "Really...?"

Arthur nodded. "Yeah. They left earlier..."

Ivan gulped. He was glad they didn't find him, but he couldn't be out like that the next time the authorities decided to come around. He frowned. He was being irresponsible. He couldn't leave Arthur to save his behind every time he was in trouble. He was the one they were looking for, and he didn't want to involve Arthur in this anymore than he already is. He stared at Arthur with that taut look of his, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Arthur...for putting you through that."

Arthur's eyebrows arched, then lowered again skeptically. "Why? You didn't have any control over it, Ivan..."

"No, but...I don't want you to be responsible for me."

Arthur smiled reassuringly and put his hand on Ivan's shoulder. He patted it softly. "It's fine, Ivan. I knew what I was getting into. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Ivan nodded slowly, hugging Arthur. "Okay...thank you. For everything."

This time, Arthur didn't reject his hug, but welcomed Ivan into his arms by wrapping then around Ivan's waist. "No need to thank me."

The hug lasted for an unsettling amount of time, and when the two finally pulled away, Arthur was blushing and Ivan was scratching his head. They both apologized at the same time, making them stare at each other, confused. Arthur blushed more and Ivan cleared his throat.

The pressure was unbearable.

"W-Well, um...I'm going to go...do something else..." Arthur said with a stutter. "Um...I'll be upstairs-"

"Wait...Arthur, can I talk to you?" Ivan didn't want Arthur to go just yet. He wanted to apologize. But the Englishman looked away, as if to say that this conversation they were about to have was only one of the things the man feared...a conversation he hoped he wouldn't have with Ivan.

Arthur, defeated, looked at Ivan and clicked his teeth. "Okay." He walked over to the living room, sitting on top of the rug with his legs crossed. Ivan sat across from him, twiddling his thumbs. Arthur sat patiently, waiting for Ivan to start. He didn't want to do this. He knew how weird it would be to the both of them afterward, yet he couldn't ignore the fact that he had done that to Arthur. He really wanted to, he liked it, and so did Arthur, but...Arthur doesn't feel that they should be doing anything like that, and neither does Ivan. It isn't right for friends to do that. And now, he understood why.

"I wanted to say I was sorry...for..." Ivan blushed. He couldn't say it, and he hoped Arthur wouldn't make him say it. Arthur just nodded, not wanting Ivan to say it.

"It's fine, Ivan..."

"But...it isn't. I knew I shouldn't have, but...I-I have...urges...and..." Ivan was making a complete fool of himself already. He didn't have to explain too much, or he could end up saying the wrong thing! Arthur would just find Ivan creepy. He seemed creepy right now. Urges. What an idiot. This was harder than Ivan thought initially. Arthur gave Ivan a small smile, chuckling occasionally as Ivan kept stumbling.

"Ivan...Ivan, I get it. I'm telling you, I honestly don't mind." Arthur looked off to the side, getting a little closer to Ivan. "I...did like it. I'll confess, you weren't...bad, okay? But nonetheless, I think it'll be better for the both of us to just forget about it. Is that alright with you?"

Ivan nodded, feeling a little better. But he still shifted with some discomfort, although Arthur told him it was okay. Maybe he should just forget about it. It would be better to do so. Yes. It never happened. He'd just leave it alone. He smiled back at Arthur, hoping to seem happier. Ivan knew, though, that he couldn't be happy until he could finally have Arthur to himself and in bed. "Da...I'll forget about it." But Ivan didn't want to forget Arthur's soft skin and his breathy moans. He didn't want to forget those sensitive green eyes. He didn't want to ignore the tenderness of Arthur's lips.

He wanted to re-live that moment over and over again.

(***)

When the sun set, Arthur went away to his room to sleep. Ivan wrote another diary entry but it was short. He didn't really feel up to writing one today, but he did anyway. He just wrote about how weird and sad he felt after all of this. He frowned. All he wanted was Arthur. He wanted Arthur to give him the chance. Ivan was so selfish. He repeated it to himself a million time and a million more times; He was not going to take advantage of Arthur. Not his body, not his emotions, not his kindness. He was trying to be what Arthur might refer to as a "gentleman." Why did thoughts like this have to constantly haunt him?

He went up to Arthur's room, having nothing else to do that night, and walked through the door. It was one of the many rules Arthur told Ivan not to break, otherwise known as the rule that stated "not to come into Arthur's bedroom without permission." Of course, Ivan didn't care about having permission. Rules were for Americans to follow. He stepped closer to the Brit's sleeping form. Although Arthur was the cause of his poignancy, his misery, he knew taking one good look at the blonde would make him feel better. And it did. It made him feel much better to look at his serene, peaceful face as he slept. This was intrusive, Ivan thought, but after giving it some more though, he really didn't care. As long as Arthur didn't wake up while he was still in the room and see him, he'd be fine. Otherwise, Arthur might smack him with a pillow or something. The thought of an angry, sleep-deprived Arthur throwing pillows around the room was slightly frightening to Ivan. But soon, the thought was amusing when it changed into the vision of an intense pillow fight. That would be fun! Of course, Arthur would not be in the mood for a playful pillow fight if he disturbed his slumber.

Ivan sat at the edge of Arthur's bed. He wanted to cuddle with the sleeping Englishman, but he knew he couldn't do that. If he woke up, Arthur would...well, honestly, he doesn't know what Arthur would do. Blush? Maybe. Scream? Perhaps. Push Ivan off of the bed? That's very likely to happen, but only if Arthur has enough strength to do that. But Ivan knew he couldn't control himself. He was already lying down and putting an arm on Arthur's side, moving Arthur's arm so he could slide his under it. He was so warm and fresh. And he smelled really clean. He pin-pointed the fragrance to be lavender. He smiled. He wanted every moment he spent with Arthur to be like this. He only wished Arthur was awake so he could talk to him. But if he was, Arthur would be telling him to leave the room. He wouldn't chat with him. But it was what he wanted. He held Arthur close as he slept, hoping this would go on forever.

"Ivan..." Arthur whispered.

Ivan froze. What? Was Arthur awake? He swallowed and looked at Arthur. He tried his best to be inconspicuous, which was basically impossible for Ivan to do. "Da...?"

But Arthur didn't turn around or reply. He just stayed there, silently. "Arthur...?" He tried. After a little while, he was lightly snoring again. Does Arthur just talk in his sleep? Ivan sighed in relief. That's a happy surprise. He wasn't awake. Wait. Why would Arthur say his name in his sleep? Was he dreaming of him? It could be anything, he thought. But he was eager to know what it could be.

"Ivan...I like you..."

Then, Ivan's face turned red. Like him? Like him how? Did Arthur actually care for Ivan? "O-Oh dear..." He was flattered, really. But did he mean like him as a friend or like him as...Ivan was getting too worked up over this. Jumping to conclusions. Maybe it wasn't what Ivan made it out to be. That's believable. Besides, Ivan knew Arthur could never fall for a guy like him. It made him feel forlorn, like a hopeless figure being casted away by Arthur, like he didn't want him. Oppressed. As far as Ivan knew, he didn't mean anything to Arthur at all. Arthur didn't want Ivan. Ivan couldn't have him. So, then, what could Arthur have meant? Arthur turned around with a hum, and he put his head on Ivan's chest. Ivan didn't let Arthur go, though he was alarmed. He knew Arthur didn't do this purposely, that he didn't do any of this because he meant to. He was asleep. Or, he thought he was asleep. Later, he realized Arthur still wasn't awake. He figured that much. He wouldn't do something like that if he was awake. But then, Arthur wrapped his arms around Ivan and said something Ivan couldn't hear. Or, at least, something he didn't think he heard correctly. He couldn't make it out. Maybe it was just some random mumbling. Ivan kept Arthur there, not moving or making any noise to wake him. Arthur was so cute. He's said it hundreds of times, and he'd say it again; Arthur was adorable. He liked the way he clung to him in his sleep. Arthur must like to have something in his arms as he sleeps, probably as some sort of comfort object. But Ivan couldn't let this last. He'd have to go eventually, though, or Arthur would wake and...well, what Arthur would do to him was still unclear, but he knew he wouldn't let Ivan leave without an explanation. Eventually would unfortunately have to be soon. He didn't want to leave him, but he had to. "Well, it was nice while it lasted" he decided. He wished Arthur a soft 'goodnight' and he started to move his arm. He stopped as soon as Arthur began to speak once again. But this time, it was _different_. The issue, the problem with such intricacy that Ivan was having was not with the clarity of the phrase, nor was it with his own hearing.

The only complication was having to elucidate it.

He had no idea, not the slightest clue, whether or not Arthur was awake when he said this. Furthermore, - and this is the part that befuddled him the most - Ivan did not understand, he could not fathom, how Arthur was able to get his attention with such idleness. It was...phenomenal to him. All it took was three words, and perhaps, he was getting too excited over it, but these three little words were like miracles of a wonderful, angelic kind. They made up what he liked to call hope. These were words that would leave Ivan wondering for the rest of the night, baffled, with a rapturous heart beating a million beats per second. They would give him a warm, fuzzy sensation. A surreal, euphoric feeling was all that he felt when those words reached his ears. He just hoped he wasn't dreaming.

"Stay with me."

End of Chapter 5 TBC.

* * *

**((Shorter chapter this time! At first, I wanted to make Arthur say "I love you" at the end, but his feelings for Ivan aren't quite there yet. They're at a place where Arthur could admit that he wants Ivan to stay. Not consciously, of course. Arthur's a lot more honest when he's sleep-talking. However, that still made Ivan pretty happy. Sorry for the wait! Time to take forever writing Chapter 6. **

**~Tsusuko))**


	6. Chapter 6

((***Warnings(s)**: Minor yaoi/shounen ai, humor

***Disclaimer**: I do not own Hetalia. All credit for the characters goes to the original creator, Hidekazu Himaruya.))

* * *

_2 Months Later_

Arthur looked to the laptop screen emitting a bright white light in front of his face, and covering only a little of the dim-lit room around him. This was almost as bad as the "Great Depression of 2009." Also known as "The Year of Writer's Block" for Arthur. He's lost creativity countless times before, but it just happened to be at its worst that year. He chewed his pen, stressed and tired, leaving small, little but slightly unnoticeable dents in it. It was a nasty habit, but Arthur does it so many times, he forgets he's chewing on it. "Let's see, miserable...crestfallen...gloomy? No, no..."

Ivan opened the door to Arthur's room and stepped up behind him. "Arthur? What are you doing? Why is it so dark in here? You need sunlight."

"Be quiet, Ivan, I'm trying to think." He snapped. Arthur tapped the table with his finger rapidly and impatiently, snatching the cup of tea and drinking the contents. No one would be able to tell in the dark, but Arthur's eyes were tired, dark bags growing under his eyes. He was jittery, or more jittery, than usual. Coffee. He needed coffee. When he spoke, the words were quick, monotonous, and said in low register or tone of voice, like you couldn't tell what he was saying for the most part. He wasn't speaking to anyone in particular but himself, and Ivan thought it was a little creepy. Actually, really creepy. "Doleful...Dismal...it was a dismal and rainy day." He said out loud as he typed with quick, nimble fingers. But Arthur shook his head and held down the "backspace" key. "No...Ivan. Refill my tea-cup. With coffee this time. No. Scratch that. Just get a mug and pour as much as you can in there, will you?"

"I will if you say please." Ivan responded.

"Please, my arse. Just get me the bloody coffee" He growled.

Ivan leaned down and smiled darkly at Arthur. "Yes, Arthur." The smile grew on both ends, and his head tilted to one side, showing every ounce of bitterness Ivan was trying to contain. He made a quick grabbing motion behind him, as if he were about to choke him, before standing up straight and leaving the room. What was the matter with him? Ivan has never seen Arthur act like this ever, especially not at any point today. Except for the morning, where Arthur was especially moody, but even then, it wasn't as bad as it was now. Ivan went down to the kitchen, following Arthur's orders, and made as much coffee as he could for him, then poured the hot liquid into the tallest mug he could find, making to add enough sugar so Arthur wouldn't scold him for not adding any. He walked upstairs steadily so he wouldn't spill it, then walked through the door once more and set the mug down right next to the laptop, on the table. Arthur immediately took the cup, the heat apparently irrelevant, and took a sip. Before Ivan could warn him, he was already spitting out the burning coffee off to the side. Thankfully, he didn't spit any at Ivan or the laptop screen, but the "poor Brit" made a loud, whining noise as held his tongue, kicking his feet in pain. "Iwan! Ow, ow, it huuuuths!"

Ivan bit his lip so he could prevent himself from laughing at that. "I believe that's what you call 'karma', da?"

"Shudduh!" Arthur said, letting go of his tongue and groaning with his arms crossed on the table top. "That was too hot...ow, my tongue."

"I thought you knew it was going to be too hot to drink right away, Arthur." Ivan said. "What is going on with you? You seem so distracted."

Arthur sighed and scratched his scalp. "I'm just writing, Ivan. Don't worry." In truth, Arthur was working on his story, and he's been up for about 5 hours and 23 minutes, working on it and trying to make it presentable. Authors have it harder than anyone could imagine. He was practically dead. Of course, this story was the one he was basing off of Ivan, not that other romance crap. He wouldn't be bothered to be working on something like that for extended periods of time before quitting. Though, his need to make this book flawless was why he was taking this so seriously, and it was also why he's been up for so long. Arthur couldn't grimace, but not many things have changed over the course of two months, really. There were important things he could point out or note, however, like Ivan's English improving, both in speaking and writing. It really has gotten better, he could decree, and he was very proud of his pupil, if he could say so himself. Though, he still used the word "da" often and his accent didn't seem to be going anywhere. Notably, his skills were noticeable during the first month. He hoped Arthur's influence would encourage him to reach higher and improve to even greater levels, but seeing as how it's already increased tenfold, he doesn't want to tire he man. But he knew Ivan could handle it. In addition, he was convinced the authorities were backing up and that they were soon to be gone and out of Ivan's hair permanently. Better yet, he's been getting such useful information out of Ivan for the past few months. After many therapy sessions, or just "sessions", Arthur felt he had almost enough details and facts to complete it. Some were long, some were short and brief, but all as crucial for the making of this book. Clearly, Arthur hadn't been trying to write the entire thing in one sitting, but he was trying to get much of it done as possible. The faster he was done writing, the sooner it would be published. And the sooner it would be published, the sooner it would sell. And the sooner it would sell, the more money he would have! Need he say more? The only thing he was struggling with was a title. He figured it would be simple, but all the titles he thought of all sounded so...platitudinous. He'd deal with the title as soon as he was finished or something. He's held titles off before, and they usually end up sounding a lot better if he sat down to think about it and let it sink in for a while. Arthur figured that the things that haven't changed were the fact that Ivan hadn't left and that it had all been very calm and laid back this entire time. And that was good. Arthur liked it that way.

Arthur was so careful and focused as he analyzed the story that he didn't notice Ivan staring at the screen, over his shoulder.

"Hmm..." Ivan hummed, scanning the small black letters on bright, artificial white screen. Arthur jumped.

"You almost gave me a heart attack, Ivan! Have you been standing there the whole time?" He asked.

"Da...Arthur, are you sure you're okay?"

Arthur opened his mouth to contradict him, but he closed it and shook his head. "No. I think I'm just out of it because I haven't had any sleep in a while." Arthur yawned as Ivan massaged his shoulders. Arthur didn't mind it, and he let Ivan do that whenever he felt tense, like he did now.

"So, what is this writing you're working on? Another story?" Ivan wondered.

Arthur's head fell back slowly and he closed his eyes. "Yeah..."

"You're tired, da?" He suggested with his soothing, modulating voice. "Why not lie down and rest? I'll open up the windows for you so you're not cooped up in this dark room while you sleep."

"Nnn, sounds lovely...but I want to write a bit more..." Arthur sat back and his muscles relaxed while Ivan pressed down on his rigid shoulders.

"What could you possibly be writing that could be keeping you up this long?" Ivan asked. "May I see?"

Arthur smiled to himself. He's been training him to say things like "May I" for these past 2 months now, too. The work must have paid off. Arthur could have been wrong. Good things did come out of this. Things have changed for him. "Very well. I don't see why not. Go ahead."

Ivan didn't stop massaging as he looked forward at the font and read a paragraph, nodding his head every now and then. When Ivan was done reading, he stood normally and titled his head down to look down at Arthur. He smiled confidently back at him.

"So? What do you think?"

"Would you like me to be honest, Arthur?"

"I'd like that, yes."

"I think it's very straightforward and boring." Ivan answered bluntly with a cute smile.

"Boring?!" Arthur ejaculated, springing from his seat to corner the Russian.

"No need to get hostile, Arthur. I was only being honest."

"Hmph! Well, who asked you anyway?"

"You did."

Arthur grumbled and stormed back to his seat. "It is not boring...I've been working very hard on this!" Arthur cried.

Ivan returned and stood next to him as Arthur spun slowly in his chair. "I can tell. You're trying too hard."

"Trying too hard?" Arthur repeated. "What do you mean?"

Ivan stopped the chair from moving with the descending of his hand on the chair and looked down at Arthur from where he stood. "You see, I think it's very well written but there's no feeling to it. You're just using long, complex words in sentences, and it might seem impressive to some, but really, that is all it has. If the rest of the story is the same as this one paragraph that I just read, then this story is lacking in many areas. One thing a reader looks for in a book is a good sense of sentiment and emotion, you know. I have said it before, remember?"

Arthur's eyebrow twitched as he took Ivan's cheek and pinched it until it turned red. "Who made you king of all critics, eh?" He asked through gritted teeth.

Ivan whimpered. "I-I'm sorry...Arthuuuuur!" Ivan squeaked and lumbered sideways with Arthur pulling at his cheek. Arthur let go and went back to the screen. He sighed and crossed his legs. Arthur didn't want to hear it. He knew it all too well.

"You're right." Arthur confessed. "I'm sorry for hurting you." His work wasn't any better than what he was looking at before him, but he wasn't going to repeat himself again. He knew he was a failure. He stared into the glowing screen and at the words he's written, scowling. He was downhearted. Disappointed in himself. Arthur saved his work and closed the laptop, but he didn't turn it off because he didn't see the point in that at the moment. Once he pushed it off to the side, he got up and crawled under the covers. He pulled the sheets over his eyes sadly and mourned in the dark. "I appreciate the criticism."

"I didn't mean to invalidate all of your work, Arthur...please, don't be sad. I want you to keep writing the story. I'm sorry."

Arthur considered saying nothing at first, but he sighed. "It's fine. I'm going to keep writing, Ivan. But I'll have to alter it a lot after this.""Are you going to sleep now, Arthur?"

"Yes, Ivan. Don't move the curtains, please. I want to keep the room like this." Arthur advised.

"Okay. I'll be awake if you need me. Sleep tight, Arthur..."

Arthur yawned again and drifted off into sleep. His imperfections would be forgotten for now. But only for a mere moment.

* * *

Ivan frowned at the lifeless laptop and sighed when he turned to the sleeping Brit. He really did hope he hadn't crushed Arthur's hopes just then. He was just telling him the truth, but he should have understood that it would have spared Arthur's feelings if he just lied. What was he going to do? Lie to him again? He knew what came out of lying, and he didn't want to end up on the streets again. He sat on the spinning chair, tapping his fingers on the table and steadying himself on his seat. He opened the laptop, and blinked at the light shining before him. Ivan clicked on the document Arthur had been working on, and studied it. Arthur's vocabulary really was admirable, but he honestly wouldn't read his story. Arthur knew that he couldn't write, and he has been trying, but his ability hasn't exactly improved a lot. There's only a subtle change in the writing that Ivan can see, but you can't tell it's there if you aren't looking for it. Yet, if Arthur isn't pleased with this story, then he could potentially give up on it entirely. Or even give up on being an author. Ivan couldn't let that happen. It would ruin him. He had to do something to help him.

Ivan looked over the document, reading and re-reading, then it came to him. What if he just altered Arthur's story himself? Then, it would improve. Now, Ivan had no experience with writing, if you weren't counting the 60 or so diary entries he's already made, but how hard could it be? Arthur's story was good, but this would be the sugar on the cake. Ivan cracked his knuckles and set his fingers down on the keyboard and started to type, starting from the beginning. As he typed, he looked over his shoulder occasionally to see if Arthur had moved or showed any signs of waking, but he was sound asleep. Ivan was crazy for trying to change all of Arthur's work, but it's not like he intended to re-write the entire thing. Just add little details throughout the story that would make it more tolerable to read. He typed and typed, taking sips of Arthur's coffee so he could remain active and energetic, until an hour passed. Then another. And another, until it was finally 3 AM and Ivan was...finished! He even wrote the ending for Arthur. Who knew 2 months work could be so easily modified? He sighed happily with glazed, purple eyes still on the laptop screen and closed his heavy, droopy eyelids. He saved his work and turned the laptop off, and closed it. Ivan was done.

Ivan couldn't tell Arthur he had done this. He was still the same grumpy, prideful little man he's always been, he'd chastise Ivan for doing his work for him. He's always wanted to be independent and do things on his own. It was understandable, though it sometimes got out of hand. Which is why he was not going to allow himself to say a word or even hint it. He would let Arthur believe he was the one who did all the work on his own and that the finished product was successful because he wrote it. Arthur would prefer it that way, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He'd just have to convince Arthur when he wakes up that he didn't mean what he said about Arthur's story and that it was good enough to publish. How he would do that is beyond him, but he'd have to try. He'd worry over it in the morning...or rather, later in the morning because he was tired. Very tired. He needed sleep. Ivan silently got off of the chair and tiptoed his way out of the room. He closed the door quietly, only letting off a small creak, and closed it shut. He made his way to his bedroom and slowly got in bed, wrapping himself in the covers. He hoped this would make Arthur be more confident in his writing. He may have written for him now, but he wants to see him get better on his own. He just wants Arthur to be happy. Ivan just hopes he did the right thing by doing this.

Oh, well. It was too late, or early, rather to be thinking about it. Time for bed.

* * *

Later than morning, Arthur woke up, yawned and stretched, opening his eyes to find a large tray placed on his lap, with foods of different sizes, shapes and aromas on top of it. The food smelled good, and Arthur could tell it was warm, like some of the foods were cooked recently. The scent was...divine. There were two bowls, one with cereal and another with porridge, Arthur thought, some cheese or maybe some other type of fresh dairy product, a sandwich made with a single slice of bread, fried eggs and a small glass of orange juice.

Did Ivan make all of this?

He rubbed his eyes in bewilderment, thinking he was just dreaming, and sniffed the meals individually. They all smelled even more exquisite when he smelled them each individually, but he didn't think he was going to be able to eat all of this! That is, if all of this food was indeed for him. Where was Ivan?

Just then, the Russian stepped in the room, wearing Arthur's cooking apron and holding a large, wooden spoon. There was flour on the apron as well as on some places of Ivan's body, such as his face. He grinned at Arthur and, stepped closer to him, leaving the spoon down on top of the dresser.

"Good morning, Arthur. Did you sleep well?"

Ivan fluffed Arthur's pillow and straightened the tray out so it wouldn't fall, then he took the spoon that was in one of the bowls and scooped a bit of the food with it. He held it towards Arthur's mouth. "Say 'aah,' Arthur."

Arthur opened his mouth and Ivan placed the spoon inside of it. Arthur ate the food willingly, but this all was a little peculiar. Why was Ivan him breakfast in bed? What was the occasion? Arthur chewed the food, finding that it was actually very tasty.

"Mmm," he hummed. "This is...really good, Ivan. What is it?"

Ivan smiled and let Arthur take the spoon so he could have so more porridge. "It's _kasha._ "

"Kasha? Like porridge? It kinda looks like it."

"You could say that, yes. _Kasha_ is a type of porridge." Ivan chuckled as Arthur eagerly shoved more of it into his mouth. "You seem to like it. I made _kasha_, butterbrot, it's like toast, fried eggs and _tvorog_. I think you would call that quark. Enjoy." Ivan took the bowl of cereal and started to eat. "Although, this cereal is for me."

"Thank you, Ivan. Though, I still don't know if I'm gonna be able to eat all of this." Arthur poked at the _tvorog_, or quark with his spoon and took a little to try it. Curiously, he put it in his mouth and his taste buds reacted positively. He took even more of it, along with helping himself to the eggs. "What's the occasion?" Arthur asked with his mouth full.

"Occasion? Oh, Arthur. I just wanted to be nice and make you breakfast."

Arthur squinted at Ivan skeptically. No one ever wanted to be "kind" to him. No one would just decide to do something like this, and Ivan never made him breakfast. People don't do this for him unless they wanted something out of him. He knew this from past experience with his older brothers. "Alright, Braginsky. What do you want from me? Money? Sex? You're not getting either of those things by just making me breakfast, you know. Food isn't a way to get into my wallet or my pants." He stated in a tight voice.

Ivan looked appalled as he gasped and put his hand over his heart. "Arthur! You know those are not my intentions! Who do you take me for?"

"Oh, please. Need I remind you of the time you tried to take me in the living room? If you don't want either of those things, then what do you want?" Arthur asked, grabbing the glass of orange juice and drinking some to wash the food down.

"I don't want anything from you, Arthur..."

Arthur raised his eyebrow as the orange juice swam down his throat and he reached for the untouched butterbrot.

"Okay...maybe I do want something."

Arthur scoffed and kept eating. "I knew it."

"I want your forgiveness."

Arthur stopped chewing and looked at Ivan, dumbfounded. "H-Huh?"

Ivan looked at him pleadingly, and sat on the edge of Arthur's bed, moving the edge under all of Ivan's weight. "I felt bad after talking to you last night...I made you upset. I didn't mean to make you sad, Arthur. So I made you breakfast in hopes that you would forgive me."

Arthur stuttered, feeling a little guilty. He looked down at the food on the tray, and scratched his neck with the spoon still in his hand. "Oh, um...I didn't know you felt that way. But, trust me, it wasn't that big of a deal, Ivan."

"Da. It was. I wanted to make up for how sad I made you. Do you forgive me, Arthur?"

Arthur paused and set the spoon down on the tray. He sighed. "Yes, Ivan. I forgive you."

Ivan moved closer and pulled Arthur into a tight bear hug. "Thank you~"

Arthur gasped for air. "Ack! Ivan!"

"Oops. Sorry, Arthur." Ivan let Arthur go, letting him breathe. "I forget my strength."

"Yeah, okay...listen, I'm full. I can't have another bite. But thank you for the nice breakfast."

Ivan picked up the tray from Arthur's lap and nodded, leaving the room to dispose of the unfinished food. Arthur appreciated the gesture, he really did, but what could that have meant? Perhaps, he really was just judging Ivan in the wrong way. The giant was actually very gentle and sweet. He smiled. No one's ever gone through the trouble of doing that for Arthur just for his forgiveness. Ivan was so loyal. He felt his heart racing in his chest and the thumping getting even louder. It happened all the time now. It was so troublesome, so tedious. He just wanted it to end. He didn't want to feel this way. He's been thinking about it for most of his time now. It was kind of sad, he thought. Arthur still didn't get it. He seldom felt_ that feeling_ for anything or anyone else. Except, of course, for Ivan. It just wasn't right, he didn't even know how to make the feeling go away. He'd just have to forget it for now, like he always did. Arthur put his arms across his chest, wanting to stop the beating and rip his heart out of his chest and through the fabric of his clothing. Gruesome, he knew, but what else could stop it?

"How morbid of you, Arthur," He said aloud to himself. "No more reading the works of Edgar late at night."

Arthur got out of bed and went to go freshen up by taking a shower. As he stripped and stepped into the shower, he thought to himself; it's been two months. Not two unbearably long months, but two short, easy months. Time flew by so quickly that Arthur didn't even see the next month coming when it was right before his eyes. It was December, and Arthur knew it would start to snow very, very soon. He wondered if Ivan would like the snow and if it would remind him of where he used to live. That could either have a good outcome or a bad one. Aside from that, he knew he was going to be a bit busier this time of year. This meant he'd have to do something with his flowers, since it was going to get cold, but he also knew the holidays were coming up. Christmas time. Usually, during this time of the month, he never had to do any holiday shopping for anyone but himself. But this year, he gets the feeling that he might have to buy gifts for Ivan, as well. That is, if Ivan even celebrated Christmas. He never asked him. He probably should have. After all, there were different cultural and religious circumstances he would have to keep in mind. If Ivan didn't celebrate it, then it would be more money he'd keep. But he wanted to celebrate Christmas with Ivan. He wanted to give him a present and let him put the star on top of the tree. Little things that would make Ivan happy and welcome, and appeal to his childlike view on the world. Arthur didn't know why he wanted this. He didn't understand a lot of things he thought of. As soon as he was done, Arthur stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel to dry himself with, shaking his wet, untidy hair like a dog and making it into an even bigger mess. He used the same towel to shake his hair out then he changed into some cleaner clothes. He went to go meet Ivan downstairs, seeing that Ivan had already done away with the leftovers and was sitting on the living room carpet, staring at the television. Arthur walked over next to him and sat with his legs crossed on the floor.

"What are you watching?"

"I don't know. I'm not paying much attention to the television. I think I'm watching the news."

Arthur nodded and slid a closer to him. "Ivan, can I ask you something?"

"Da. What is it?"

Arthur looked to the empty spot nearby where he usually placed his tree, and back to Ivan. "Well, I was wondering," he started. "If you celebrated Christmas."

Ivan turned to him, no longer facing the television. "Christmas? Oh. Yes, I do. But it isn't like the Christmas you have here."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "How so?" Ivan set his hands on his lap. "In Russia, we don't celebrate Christmas on the same day, and we mostly celebrate New Year rather than Christmas. It is a national holiday there, but we don't celebrate it in December, we celebrate it in January. January 7, to be exact."

Arthur nodded with interest, glad to know the new information. "Oh. Well, I was just wondering...if you could celebrate it with me, I guess."

Ivan's cheeks turned a slight pink as he giggled idly. He didn't look Arthur in the eyes, sheepishly waving his hand. "Oh, you want to celebrate Christmas with little old me? I'm so flattered."

Arthur rolled his eyes playfully. He couldn't tell if Ivan was kidding or not. "Yes, I do. I don't usually celebrate it with other people besides my parents. And even then, I don't really do it often."

"If that is the case, then I'd be more than happy to celebrate Christmas with you, Arthur."

Arthur smiled a little at that. "Good. I don't have much planned but I think I'm going to enjoy myself this year."

Ivan put his arm around the Englishman's shoulder and smiled widely at him. "I think I will, too."

* * *

Ivan had moved over to the sofa as Arthur went to go find some Christmas catalogs for decorations and gifts. Arthur had been paying attention to what he was going to be doing for the holidays more than he was on the story he was working on, which surprised Ivan to some extent. He thought the Englishman would be more involved in his book at the moment. It didn't bother him so much, though, since it would be better if Arthur were calmer and have less to stress about. It would be better for him, he thinks. And better for Ivan, too. Suddenly, he heard the sound of paper slapping against the counter.

"Blast! I need to work on the book!"

Ivan spoke too soon.

He heard Arthur drop whatever the magazine he was holding onto the counter in front of him before he ran upstairs to his room, Ivan following close behind him.

"Your book?" Ivan asked.

"Yes, yes! The book!" He replied hurriedly, stepping inside of the room and sitting right on his chair. He opened the laptop and turned it on, the laptop quickly whirring into life.

Arthur brought his hands to the keyboard in front of him but quickly caught himself. He slowly moved back to rest his back on the chair, as if something had struck him right then and there.

"Right...the story is awful. I need to fix all of it."

Ivan's purple eyes widened before he closed the laptop in front of Arthur, receiving a very questioning look from the Brit.

"What did you go and do that for? I was gonna start-"

"Oh, no! Arthur, there is something else I needed to tell you...about the story." He made a hand gesture like he was shooing something away in the air, and spun the chair around so Arthur was facing him.

"Arthur..." Ivan begun "After thinking about it for some time, I realized...your story isn't all that bad." Ivan gave him a strained, but convincing enough smile before he sat down on Arthur's bed. "It actually has several good elements. I re-read it after you fell asleep and I saw that the work was thorough and consistent, and you don't need to fix anything about it."

Arthur's eyebrows arched, and he could tell his skepticism had changed drastically. "But last night, you said-"

"I know what I said!" He interrupted. "But...I was wrong to insult your work so easily! Who am I to judge it? You're right. I'm no critic. I don't do this for a living."

Arthur remained skeptical. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, and - although he didn't say anything - he frowned so deeply that Ivan knew all he wanted to hear was the truth. Ivan knew this was going to be more difficult than he thought, but the truth wasn't gonna come out just yet.

Ivan sighed and walked up to Arthur. "Arthur...listen to me." He came up behind him and wrapped his arms around the smaller man's shoulders. With a subtle, honeyed tone, he curled a strand of Arthur's hair in his finger. "Believe me. It was late, and it was wrong for me to assume that the work wasn't good. I'm not just saying this to consider your feelings. I've been brutally honest with you before, haven't I? I'm only changing my opinion now because this time I wasn't right. Your book really is good enough to publish. I promise."

Arthur turned to look not at Ivan, but distantly in front of him, like he was thinking or considering something. His mouth was open slightly, and his eyes had a faint twinkle in them, a spark of hope. Did he believe Ivan? Like a small child, he looked up deep into his eyes.

"Really?" Arthur asked airily.

"Of course, Arthur." Ivan smiled warmly, and ran his large hand through his hair.

"So...I can publish this?"

"Do whatever you wish, Arthur. It isn't _my_ book."

Arthur's child like smile turned into a teethy and goofy grin, and he started to giggle. "Then...my work is good. My work is good!"

Arthur picked up his laptop and laughed. "Good! It's good! I'm done! Finally done! This is so wonderful!" He laughed even harder, and ran out of the room with the laptop over his head. "Wonderful!"

"Arthur, don't run! You're going to hurt yourself!"

Ivan couldn't hear anything but Arthur's laughing throughout the entire home as soon as he stepped out of the room, in pursuit of the laughing madman. He chuckled, and shook his head. "And I thought I was crazy."

He walked down the stairs to find Arthur rolling around the carpet with the machine clutched tightly in his arms. He held it up to the air as he stopped rolling, and sighed happily, then set it back down on the floor next to him.

"This is going to be the start of our future, Ivan! I'll be bathing in money in no time!"

"I'm sure you will be, Arthur."

Arthur motioned for Ivan to come and join him in the carpet, and Ivan sat down next to Arthur on the carpet.

"I'll split the profit with you, if you want."

"No, thank you. I don't need money. I just want you to be happy, Arthur."

Arthur blushed a little and cleared his throat at the remark. "W-well...that's very noble of you."

After a long moment of silence between the two, Arthur decided to break it by scooting next to Ivan a little. "Say, Ivan...I, uh, appreciate...that you stayed with me for this long."

Ivan didn't answer. He wanted to see where Arthur was going with this. He leaned in closer, wanting to hear what Arthur else had to say, his eyebrows raised with interest.

"A-and...you could have left by now,...but...you didn't. I-I'm a little glad you didn't, though, since...since, I like your company! I don't like being alone, you know that. A-and, well...m-maybe...perhaps...possibly..."

Ivan wished Arthur could see what his face was like now. The Englishman's entire head had gone pure scarlet. Ivan put his hands on Arthur's face, and sure enough, it was burning. He held his tongue to keep from laughing. This was too cute. Ivan knew where this was going. He was joyful. And in the spirit, he could say that he was jolly. Not only for himself, but he was happy for Arthur. He's also happy that he was able to accommodate him, and he's very content that Arthur cares about him enough to say this to him. After these months he's spent with him, he never thought this would happen, he just prayed and hoped it would. And now that Arthur was confessing to him right before his eyes, he doesn't know what to do but smile. All he knows know is that he was wrong then, and that nothing mattered in the present. Not right now. Ivan felt accomplished.

"What are you trying to say, Arthur?"

"What I'm trying to say is!" He bellowed. "I-Is...i-is...i-i-i-is..." Arthur fell into a stammering fit, mumbling things incoherently and trying to make up words with letters, though he found himself stuttering the first letter of each word more than once.

Ivan pulled him into a kiss. It wasn't passionate. It was soft and gentle, but it did the trick just right. Arthur melted into the kiss and wrapped his trembling arms around Ivan's neck tightly for support, like he was going to fall.

"I-I...like you...a lot." Arthur finished, breathless.

"I like you a lot, too, Arthur. I have since I first met you."

Arthur hid his face in Ivan's chest, and Ivan rubbed his frail back until he stopped shaking and his breathing was back to normal.

"D-Do you think...you could stay with me a little longer?" Arthur asked quietly.

"You didn't need to ask Arthur. I didn't leave before, I'm not leaving now."

Ivan kissed him again, this time, pulling Arthur closer to deepen the kiss. Arthur didn't pull away this time. Arthur's needy lips, no longer trembling, pressed eagerly onto Ivan's. Ivan had done it. Arthur was finally his.

"I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

End of Chapter 6 TBC

((**Author's Note**: Well, I kept my promise! It did take forever to write this chapter. I've tried to get back on schedule, though, and I'll be starting Chapter 7 ASAP, as soon as I'm done with the second chapter of Incipient Admirers. I've got a lot of work ahead of me, so updating this might be a while, but I'm not going to hold it off like I did with this chapter. Hope you all can understand.

~Tsusuko))


	7. Chapter 7

((***Warnings(s)**: Hardcore yaoi, language, sexual references, humor

***Disclaimer**: I do not own Hetalia. All credit for the characters goes to the original creator, Hidekazu Himaruya.

Merry Christmas, everyone! This chapter is mostly a filler chapter for the holiday season, and the next one I write will move on to advance with the plot line. For now, I hope this one will do and that you'll forgive me for the inconveniences. I didn't think I'd be so busy this year. Enjoy!))

_Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house_  
_Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse._  
_The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,_  
_In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there._

_The children were nestled all snug in their beds,_  
_While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads._  
_And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,_  
_Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap._

_When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,_  
_I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter._  
_Away to the window I flew like a flash,_  
_Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash._

_The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow_  
_Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below._  
_When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,_  
_But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer._

_With a little old driver, so lively and quick,_  
_I knew in a moment it must be St Nick._  
_More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,_  
_And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!_

_"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!_  
_On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!_  
_To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!_  
_Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"_

_As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,_  
_When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky._  
_So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,_  
_With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too._

_And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof_  
_The prancing and pawing of each little hoof._  
_As I drew in my head, and was turning around,_  
_Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound._

_He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,_  
_And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot._  
_A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,_  
_And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack._

_His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!_  
_His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!_  
_His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,_  
_And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow._

_The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,_  
_And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath._  
_He had a broad face and a little round belly,_  
_That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!_

_He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,_  
_And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!_  
_A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,_  
_Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread._

_He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,_  
_And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk._  
_And laying his finger aside of his nose,_  
_And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!_

_He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,_  
_And away they all flew like the down of a thistle._  
_But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,_  
_"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!'"_

_~ Clement Clarke Moore_

* * *

"Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house.  
Not a creature was stirring, not even a-"

Arthur took the book out of Ivan's hands and shook his head, laughing. "Stop it."

Ivan whined and reached for the book with a pout. "Come on, Arthur! I was reading!"

"You've read this poem a thousand times ever since I showed it to you. I could hardly recite all of it before, but now that I've heard you reading it over and over, I have it memorized!" Arthur chuckled and set the book down on the coffee table. "Go find something else to do."

"But it's such a fun poem to read..." Ivan stuck his tongue out at Arthur and walked over to the tall Christmas tree standing in the middle of the living room, where Ivan had expected it to be.

It was Christmas day, and Ivan was happy, yet his excitement didn't quite match Arthur's. The Englishman's been waiting for this day, having absolutely everything prepared. Of course, what with Arthur being busy and getting everything done on his own, Ivan was left with nothing to do. Arthur urged him to read, and he found a book of poems, which is where he found "Twas the night before Christmas." He instantly fell in love with the poem, and he's read it 11 times now. It would have been twelve had Arthur let him read it for a twelfth time. He looked around the house. Christmas lights blinked outside the home, and, like in the poem, Arthur had two stockings hung near the fireplace. Hence, "hung by the chimney with care." Arthur was nice enough to give Ivan his own stocking this year. It hung there right next to Arthur's, a cute, purple stocking covered in snowflakes, but it was still bigger than his since Arthur got that one to represent Ivan's size compared to his own. He looked at the tree again, and frowned. He didn't understand why Arthur decided to buy a Christmas tree that was too tall. He wouldn't be able to hang the decorations.

"Silly man..." He muttered to himself. Making himself useful, he picked up one of the ball ornaments with his rough hand and hung it with extreme care and precision on the tall tree, then picked another one up and repeated. This went on until most of the tree was covered in Christmas ornaments from top (or most of the top) to bottom. Again, he didn't understand why Arthur bought this tree.

Ivan looked up at the empty spot at the top of the towering Christmas tree above him. That was yet another thing he didn't get. Why buy a tree so tall and large when you're going to put a star up there? Arthur would never be able to reach it on his own, and not even Ivan could, either. He's complained and questioned Arthur's decision on it several times, especially before he bought it. However, it was too late now. Arthur had his way, and there was no way he could take the tree away at all. And Ivan wouldn't want to. That would require heavy lifting. Ivan was lazy. That was too much work on Christmas day. Oh, well. At least Arthur is feeling festive.

He didn't want to call Arthur over and tell him he couldn't hang all of the decorations on the tree, not that Arthur even asked him to in the first place, but there was no way he could hang the ones on the top of the tree on his own. He was going to need to some help.

"Arthur!" He called. "Can you come in here? I need your help."

Arthur peeked his head out of the doorway and raised an eyebrow. "With what?" Quickly, he walked out to the living room and removed his apron, throwing it over to a nearby corner.

"I'm gonna need some assistance putting these balls on the tree. I'm tall, but even I can't reach up there." Ivan mumbled something about 'not having this problem if the tree was of regular size,' but he brushed it off and held a red, shiny ball ornament in front of Arthur.

Arthur took it in his hand, but he shrugged. "What do you expect me to do? I'm clearly shorter than you are, I wouldn't be able to reach up there, either."

Suddenly, Ivan got an idea. Arthur might not like it, but his smile grew and curled on both ends just thinking about the hilarity of this idea. It was brilliant! Ivan snuck up behind Arthur and picked him up swiftly, putting him on his shoulders. Ivan held his legs tight so he didn't fall as soon as he was up, but it was hard to keep him still when he was flailing his arms on top of him, shrieking like a little girl.

"IVAN! IVAN, LET ME DOWN!" He threw his arms around Ivan's eyes, covering his line of vision, and continued to wail. At least he was still now! Ivan shook his head and pulled Arthur arms away from his eyes so he wouldn't trip on something and send them both falling. When he said he wanted Arthur to scream his name, he didn't mean it like that.

"Arthur, please calm down...

"N-No! W-Why'd you even put me on your shoulders? Put me down, I say!"

"I said I needed your help, didn't I? You're going to help me hang up the decorations for the tree!"

"H-Huh?! Are you mad!" Arthur exclaimed.

Ivan rolled his eyes and handed him another ornament. Without a word, Arthur huffed and hung the ornament on an empty spot. The two made much more progress together, Ivan handing Arthur the decorations and Arthur hanging them on the tree. Eventually, both of them were both done hanging the remainder or the ornaments, both big, small and diverse, until all that was left was the star on top of the tree. They both admired the glowing, sparkling green Christmas, staring in awe at the bright blinking reds and pale greens, mixed in with a variety of colors such as yellow, purple, and blue. It was a wonderful Christmas tree, Ivan thought, despite it being too big, like he's said a million times now.

"It looks nice..." Arthur said, concurring. He looked down at Ivan with a smile, waiting for the star to finish off the gleaming tree. Ivan took it and handed it to him, walking forward and trying to stretch upwards so Arthur could reach. Arthur, star in his hand, put the finishing touch on the tree and placed the star at the peak, sighing in relief as the star stayed in place.

Leisurely, Ivan took Arthur in his hands again, and set him down. But, not wanting Arthur to leave his sight, he put his arms around his waist, holding him tight. He wanted to enjoy this moment, no matter how long it will last.

"Da- ...I mean, yes. It's very nice."

Arthur blushed deeply while settling in Ivan's arms. He too, looked at the tree with admiration, and gave a little smile. This is what the holiday season meant. He turned to look at Ivan.

"Thanks. The tree looks great and everything else is good to go..." Arthur sighed in relief. "Now I can relax...with you." Arthur adverted his eyes upon saying that, embarrassed. "I-I mean...only if you want to, I guess...!"

Ivan grinned. "Of course." Arthur was always so cute. He couldn't stop admitting that.

With Arthur still in his arms, he carried him over to the sofa, setting him down gently. Ivan lied back and sighed as his weight hit and his face sunk inside of the soft, fluffy cushion. Abruptly, he felt a new mass on top of his body, and warmth on his chest. It was none other than Arthur, of course, nuzzling close with his eyes closed and a little smile plastered on his face. His cheeks were rosy and his body was hot. This was exactly what Ivan wanted for Christmas. Snuggling close to the one he loved by the fireplace, sharing in and exchanging their own heat. His heart skipped a beat at the thought, and once again when he glanced down at the Englishman with delight and deep fondness.

"Arthur..." Ivan whispered. "I'm enjoying every minute of this."

Arthur didn't raise his head to look at him, but he hummed questioningly in acknowledgment. "And why's that?"

Ivan thought about it briefly. "Because," he began "I love being close to you. Since I haven't had the chance to do this with you in a while. and you're letting me do this with you, on Christmas day...I'm "over the moon," you could say...I'm absolutely thrilled. I couldn't be happier right now."

Arthur hesitated to say something. He was never good with words like Ivan was, and heck, he had more years of practice of the English language than Ivan had at all. Needless to say, Arthur was highly touched by Ivan's statement, and he could feel his face grow hot as each second passed. In fact, he was_ too_ touched for words. Yet, he couldn't stay silent. That would be rude, and it would give Ivan the wrong idea. 'Just say something! Don't be daft. He's waiting.'

"U-Um...w-well, I...I-Ivan, that's...e-ehm...I-I feel the same way!" Arthur cried, putting his hand over his face immediately afterward. Why is he acting so shy all of a sudden, anyway? Is this what came after his confession? He's beginning to think that perhaps telling him wasn't the best idea he's ever had.

But Ivan laughed. The laughter didn't last very long, but it was very hearty and genuine nonetheless. Arthur frowned, the red, flushed embarrassment emitting from his face. Sure, that reply may have not been very graceful, but he didn't want to be laughed at! He humiliated himself enough already.

"D-Don't laugh at me! I-I...I meant what I said...!"

Again, Ivan's firm and soft lips met Arthur's momentarily, reassuring him that everything was alright. "I know, I know...it's just..." Ivan stiffled another laugh before giving Arthur yet another peck on the lips. "You're so cute! I'm very glad you feel the same way..."

Ivan smiled and grabbed Arthur, swiftly pulling him closer to his chest so he was lying on top of Ivan. Once he let go, he put his hand on Arthur's waist, and used the other to cup his florid, burning cheek. And finally, he gazed longingly into his lover's eyes. "I care about you, Arthur. You're all mine."

"I-Ivan..." Arthur managed. His emotions finally getting the best of him, he forced himself to move up closer to meet Ivan's lips, grabbing his shirt to pull him into a deep and passionate kiss. He could hear Ivan letting out quick moan into the kiss, and he felt him put his hand on the back of Arthur's head, making the kiss intensify even further. At last, the two pulled away, Ivan blinking in surprise and Arthur looking away, panting.

"That was...intense." Ivan said, giggling.

"I, uh...s-sorry, I don't know what came over me..." Arthur admitted.

Ivan rolled his eyes and, with his hand still on Arthur's head, he pulled him back in, this time, the kiss lasting even longer than before. When they both stopped, Arthur had no objections or complaints about the kiss, but he was certainly astounded.

"O-Oh...so...you liked it?" He asked sheepishly. Ivan, in return, brought his hand down from Arthur's hips to his ass cheek, smirking.

"I did. And I'm afraid I'm feeling a little aroused now."

Arthur bit his lip, heart beginning to race. The last time Ivan was feeling aroused, they were about to have sex in the living room. Arthur knows how badly that ended, and he wouldn't want to take the risk again, but...he couldn't the deny the fact that he, too, was aroused now. With Ivan staring him up and down with that familiar smirk, his body pressed onto his own, and his hand not moving from its place on Arthur's ass, he knew Ivan wanted him. And Arthur wanted him, too. It reminded him of that day, when it _almost_ happened. Arthur knew fully well that every part of his body wanted Ivan. And most of all, he wanted Ivan inside of him. But he couldn't do it before. He was afraid that it would ruin everything. His plan, his friendship. Arthur disliked awkward encounters and situations, so he couldn't go through with it, as sexually satisfying as the experience could have been.

Arthur smiled. He knew, however, the way Ivan's been looking at him for the past couple of months. The wanton _lust_ in his eyes that showed frustration and longing agitation. It's been there all along, and Arthur's noticed it time and time again. Ivan wanted to have him, he _needed_ to have him. Ivan's been wanting it for a long time now, his desires needed to be put to rest. Before, on that day that Arthur denied him, he would never consider going through with having sex with Ivan. But now, he was more ready and more willing to than ever before. He's been wanting the Russian ever since he accepted the fact he was attracted to him, so now was his chance to finally do it. He knew fully well that Ivan wanted his sexual desires met just like Arthur wanted to be relieved of this tension between the two of them. And that's exactly what he plans to do. Break the tension.

"Oh, are you now?" Arthur replied seductively, sitting up on top of Ivan and moving back so he was settled on top of Ivan's crotch. Placing both of his hands on Ivan's chest and moving both of his legs to either sides of Ivan's hips, he straddled him as he rocked back and forth and rubbed himself against his hard, clothed groin, imitating the action of riding him. Ivan groaned, hitching his breathing as Arthur kept grinding on his cock, making nonverbal gestures signifying that he just wants Arthur to rip Ivan's pants off and fuck him properly. He was growing impatient. He wanted to take his blonde tease in his arms and strip him of all of his clothing so he could get it done and over with as soon as possible. But, seeing as how Arthur was the one taking initiative, he didn't want to scare him away like last time. He'll let Arthur have his fun at first, but then he's taking charge. He wants for this moment to be as meaningful as possible.

"A-Ah...yes, I am...and you're only making me harder." Ivan said gruffly, trying to control his urges. His member was rising inside of his pants, making a large tent below Arthur. Much to Arthur's surprise, he noticed it and blushed feverishly, the movement of his hips stopping abruptly to look at it. He bent down and raised himself up to look, and he whimpered in both astonishment and nervousness, wondering how he was going to...

Ivan grinned from ear to ear when he saw Arthur's expression, putting his arms behind his head and showing off a preview of how big his monster really is behind the fabric. "You like what you see?" He questioned confidently, wearing a cocky grin.

Arthur furrowed his brows at his smug look, and stuck his tongue out at him. This wasn't over yet. His eyes lowered to Ivan's tent voluptuously, and met Ivan's gaze once more as he took one of his hands and brought it to his groin, stroking it. "I do. I'm dying to see it in its entirety." Arthur ultimately unzipped Ivan's pants and pulled them down just enough to let his cock peek out. Arthur gasped quietly when he pulled down his boxers and it sprung out of the clothing, free at last. Arthur's jaw flung open. It was huge! Arthur's never seen something so big! He was beginning to grow a little anxious. Hesitantly, he caressed the length with his hand, seeming a lot smaller with Ivan's thick penis in front of him. He knew this was going to be harder to take control of.

"S-So..." Arthur stammered. "S-So..."

"Big?" Ivan finished.

Arthur cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out a way to do this right. "Yes...very, very big." Arthur's face got even hotter, as red as velvety crimson, at the thought of all of this stuffed deep inside of him. He licked his lips. He hadn't been this excited in well...ever. He knew he was acting shamelessly, but he couldn't care less. He took Ivan's scarf and put it on the floor, doing the same when pulling Ivan's shirt up and throwing it next to the scarf. Similarly, Ivan took Arthur's sweater and yanked it off of him, doing away with his pants. He was about to reach for his boxers before Arthur stopped him and grabbed his hand. "Not so fast, Ivan. I'll take these off when I'm ready."

That made Ivan pout. "Come on, Arthur. I don't want to wait. I want you now."

Arthur ignored him and kept looking down at Ivan's penis. As much as he longed for foreplay, he knew Ivan wouldn't stand letting Arthur try for five seconds before taking him and fucking him. A greedy man, yes, but he should be lucky Arthur likes him so much. Or else, he wouldn't be doing this at all. Next time, they'd do it _his_ way. He was suddenly reminded of something he needed, and he climbed off. Arthur gave a pat to Ivan's belly, as to not to upset him and reassure him that he was not denying him again. "Wait right here, love. I'll be right back."

Arthur ran up to his room and opened a drawer on his cabinet, pulling out a bottle of lube, and ran back downstairs. He walked inside of the living room and waved the bottle in front of Ivan to catch his attention, smirking as he got back on top of him. This time, Arthur set the lube on the floor and pulled Ivan's pants and boxers off all the way, throwing the articles of clothing to the side, until he was finally naked. Ivan looked down and the lube, and then to Arthur.

"Aren't you going to get that?"

Arthur smirked. "Eager, are you? Not yet. There's something I want to do first." Well, Arthur may have not been entirely truthful about the foreplay. Looks like he was going to make Ivan wait after all. He waved his hand and motioned for Ivan to sit up, which he did promptly, and Arthur came up to the hanging cock, putting his lips on the hot shaft. He kissed the long shaft and ran his tongue on the surface, spreading his saliva on his cock and flicking his tongue to lick off the flowing pre-cum off of the top of his dick. Ivan bucked his hips and gasped, grunting in approval. Arthur relents and exhales, wiping his tongue on the warm head. He propped his hand on Ivan's thigh and could feel him trembling under him, no doubt sensitive to the touch and the feel of the rough texture. Arthur smirked and used the hand that kept Ivan's cock in place to stroke the lower half slightly, moving up to secure his lips on the wet, pink head. His head bobbed down and he began sucking the tip, easing his way forth carefully to the rest of his member. Worrying at his lip, Ivan put his hand once again on Arthur's head, gripping the golden locks harshly. He tries to look at Arthur as he makes progress with the rest of his member, quickly pretending to look away temporarily when Arthur's emeralds dart to stare up at him. With a throaty chuckle, Arthur focuses on getting even more of Ivan in his mouth, his head raising and descending correspondingly. Ivan bit at his lip, but failed once Arthur managed to reach even lower and fit more of him into his slippery mouth. Slurping, Arthur makes it all the way to the bottom and toys with Ivan, tongue slitting and making circular motions on the underside of his cock. Ivan's hips jolted when he felt the back of his throat touching the head of his penis, and he moaned loudly, his head faltering back and his eyes closing.

"God, Arthur..." He murmured, teeth clenched. Looking at the blonde, he could tell that Arthur was amused at how well he was doing. Not that he could argue with that. Ivan was indeed pleased. Breathlessly, he moaned, a warmth filling his belly. He was close. His eyes closed shut, teeth still clenched tight, letting Arthur speeds up his pace until the clear fluid quickly erupted out of his penis, filling Arthur's mouth with his mild, sticky semen. Arthur cleans Ivan off and swallows all of it, leaving Ivan dry, and makes a noise when pulling Ivan out of his mouth, pouting with cum spread across his upper lip.

"You could have at least warned me first, you know." Arthur licked his lips and squeezed Ivan's cock gently before releasing it and letting it fall out of his hand. Ivan stirred with anticipation as Arthur reached for the lube that he had put away earlier, handing it to Ivan and waiting for him to make his next move. Ivan proudly held the bottle in one hand and pushed Arthur down on the sofa tenderly, trying not to hurt him or anger him, and he pinned him down with his other hand. His loins yearning for attention, he impatiently propped the lid open and squeezed just enough of the transparent, shiny liquid on the palm of his hand to do the trick. With the lube put elsewhere, Ivan hurried to spread the lube on his large fingers, Arthur watching silently and nibbling on the side of his bottom lip. Prepared, Ivan moved up and shifted his body so he was closer to Arthur, realizing that Arthur still had his boxers on. With a frown from Ivan, Arthur took his time removing his boxers and disposing of them, giving him an unimpressed glance. Ivan gave Arthur a nod, and Arthur readied himself for what was about to come, staring at Ivan nervously.

"B-Be gentle with me, alright...?" Arthur pleaded, though it was meant to be more of an order or a warning. Ivan put his hand under Arthur's thigh and hushed him, doubling over to kiss him again.

"I will. I promise." That said, Ivan pressed his hand on Arthur's leg and raised it up, lowering the hand with lubricant to Arthur's entrance. Slowly, he takes his wet index finger and pushes it in Arthur's hole first, Arthur shivering at the cold substance. Arthur's head tilts to the side as he tries to adjust to the new sensation. He's used the lubricant before for "other purposes" but when he did it, it didn't feel quite the same as this. Ivan's broad, wide fingers make it feel entirely different from when he does it, if not, better. After all, it did feel good. Ivan began to spread the lubricant inside of Arthur, his finger rotating and gliding across his interior walls with a staggering ease and leniency. Feeling lucky, Ivan made the insertion of a second finger, making Arthur's eyebrows furrow with the unfamiliar gesture. He had just gotten used to one, but he could manage. Arthur focused on the feel of Ivan's fingers moving slowly at first and gradually increasing in speed, then looked at Ivan to find that his features were nothing but pure concentration. 'Impressive,' Arthur thought.

The movement of Ivan's fingers started to become more harsh as he retrieved them and forced them back inside of Arthur. Arthur found himself trembling in pleasure, and made small whimpering noises from the back of his throat, becoming more and more evident once Ivan picked and prodded in a sweet spot that Arthur never touched, or hardly ever touched. His prostate, perhaps. Yet another finger joins the other two, coming in to fill Arthur's arousal. He's used to it, and he spreads his legs wider for Ivan, relaxing and trying not to tense up.

"Does it feel good, Arthur?"

With his head craned back, Arthur moaned, as if to say yes, letting out shaky exhales now and then.

"Good." Ivan said, staring up to smile at Arthur. Arthur gave him a quick strained smile as Ivan's fingers twisted, bent and curled up, once again making foreign movements that were strangely arousing to him. However, he kept a reasonable pace and a steady rhythm. Arthur breathed out sharply when he felt himself tightening up, letting Ivan know that he was good and that it was enough for now. So, Ivan removed his fingers, and let Arthur lie back on the plush cushion for a moment. As soon as Arthur made the indication that he was ready, Ivan pushed himself to him without any hesitation.

Arthur smiled, wrapping his arms around Ivan's neck and craning his neck to kiss him. Ivan once again reached out for the lube bottle, conveniently placed nearby, and spread some on his member once or maybe two times, put some on Arthur's anus, then put the bottle away again. Arthur, awaiting penetration, let more room for access by opening his legs a little wider, and soon enough, Ivan was burrowed closely in between his thighs. He could feel the warmth near him already. Ivan swiftly took his cock in his hand and ushered his penis inside of Arthur in a quick and clean way, but slowly enough, as well. It didn't hurt so much as Ivan went in bare, but it burned a little. Arthur held his breath, watching Ivan closely as his expression went from focused to satisfied. He heard him sigh loudly and push the rest all the way in, not fully thrusting just yet but modifying the placement of his hips for a better approach. Fully seated inside of him, he looks to see if Arthur is uncomfortable. However, the Englishman only nods and urges for him to continue, perfectly fine for now. Ivan put both of his hands on either sides of Arthur and on the bed while Arthur kept his arms hooked around Ivan's neck.

When Ivan pulls out halfway and presses back in, he begins a slow and steady tempo with his hips, calm, collected and controlled. Arthur watches him with moderated breaths, emitting soft moans and quiet, breathless exhales while Ivan gives the occasional grunt or groan, but, in time, becomes silent. He can tell, though, that Ivan is absolutely enchanted with Arthur's sounds, as they are what he's been waiting to hear for quite some time. They both enjoy it, granting each other full satisfaction. Arthur straddles Ivan again, wrapping his legs around his waist and using his legs to push Ivan further in. "Faster." Arthur whispers.

Panting quietly, Ivan picks up the pace and adjusts his hands on the bed, rocking his hips even faster now. Gentle thrusts turn to more forceful ones, and Arthur gasps in delight. As soon as Ivan angles his hips and pushes in, he merely grazes Arthur's prostate, but it makes Arthur suck in a deep breath. No one's ever reached there before.

"Do that again...!" He begged, pulling Ivan down to kiss him rather forcefully on his lips. Ivan rapidly obliged while he kissed him, the kiss not stopping him from thrusting, and Arthur let out a loose 'oh yes' before lying back again, dragging Ivan closer with him.

Ivan saved most of his panting and refrained from making any noise, but Arthur, on the other hand, was the one left to do all of the grunting, moaning, panting, yelling, groaning and gasping, though it was more than enough for the both of them. Ivan watched, enthralled with Arthur's sultry cries and wanting words of gratification. With Ivan's thrusting becoming more rough and far more harsh, the sweet, lustful symphony Arthur gave out grew louder.

"Fuck me, Ivan! Fuck me harder!"

Ivan's hips never faltered as they bucked and immediately let him come in even more harshly. Ivan snapped his hips forward, and let out a low groan and put both of his hands under Arthur's knees. He lifted his thin legs, and observed Arthur closely, while still taking the time to absorb the sensations. Ivan cursed softly, Arthur digging his nails into the back of his neck and moaning into his ear. It only fueled his arousal, having him this way, especially every time he heard him scream. Ivan wasn't holding back anymore, and the movements were not only fluid, but mostly very rough and animalistic. Ivan mercilessly pounds into Arthur, no longer grazing his prostate like before, but touching nothing _but_ his prostate. The deep thrusting and fast retrieval leave Arthur's mouth open wide with his tongue out in the open, eyes rolling up and eyelids faltering. He's never felt _anything_ like this before. No one could compare. He keeps applying pressure on Ivan's back with his legs, and Ivan kept going, sweat rolling down the sides of his cheeks. Arthur begins to fidget, on the brink of ejaculating.

"Ivan! Ivan...! I-I'm going to..."

And so was Ivan. The speed in which he was going left his stomach and abdomen calling out for release. "Then, let's do it together..."

Arthur nodded quickly, and felt the wave of pleasure wash down and roll on every part of him, toes curling, mouth and eyes widening, back arching, and moaning the loudest he possibly can. Ivan's messy jerks ended abruptly, Ivan stopping to moan as well then slowly pulling out. The large man collapsed sideways once Arthur left him space upon rolling over on the couch. He looked to his lover and putting an arm on his waist, Arthur placing the palm of his hands on Ivan's slightly hairy chest.

"That was...amazing." Arthur sighed.

Ivan's amethyst irises shimmered in delight, and he kisses Arthur's forehead. "It was..."

"Think of that as your second Christmas present." Arthur teased.

"I didn't even get my first one, you know."

"Hmm. Maybe tomorrow."

Arthur grows silent, and looks straight into his eyes, until he moves in closer, and leans in to kiss Ivan softly. Ivan hums and closes his eyes, returning it lovingly. Exhausted, Ivan finds a blanket to put over the both of them, and they snuggle up as close as possible to enjoy the rest of the evening, until Christmas is over. Once all is said and done, Arthur falls asleep, leaving Ivan awake in the quiet emptiness of the house. The only thing that mattered was the two of them right now. Ivan smiled softly and gave him only last kiss before letting the exhaustion take over, as well. The crackling of the fire was the last thing they had to lull them to sleep.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur..."

* * *

End of Chapter 7 TBC

((**Author's Note**: I'm laaaaaaaate, late late. Oh well. Smut, right? I don't have much to say that hasn't been explained already. But I was planning to have this updated by, well, yesterday, but there happened to be a change of events and my entire schedule was left null. It left me no time to write the next chapter. *sigh* im tired. you can tell by my writing. But, Merry Christmas anyway, even if you don't celebrate it. It's good to be happy this time of year. The regular story will resume as follows after this. Thanks to all of you lovelies who supported me.

~Tsusuko))


End file.
